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breakyeol · 4 years ago

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— WHAT HE LOST

So you got dumped. It sucks, but hey, at least you’ve got your best friends who always seem know exactly what to do to help make you feel better.

┗ Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader x Baekhyun

Genre: friends to lovers au, angst, fluff, smut

Words: 12.8k (I wish I was kidding)

Rating: 18+

Warnings: strong language, drinking, mentions of toxic relationships, mentions of cheating, explicit sexual content ; dom(?)baekhyun, switch sub!chanyeol, switch!reader, their roles ended up being very blurred, you’re the bologna in a chanbaek sandwich, threesome, very mild dirty talk, teasing, oral (f. & m. receiving), gentle throat fucking, hair pulling, multiple orgasms, squirting, yeol just wants to be a good boy but baek just wants to break the headboard

A/N; the poll I did for this fanfic was so fun!!! I seriously love interacted with you guys and receiving your feedback! I definitely think it’s something I’d like to do again in the future! I hope you guys enjoy the results! PS, I low key suck at writing endings sorry loves.

It’s half past two when you show up in front of their door, clothes soaked and heavy from the rain you hadn’t bothered to shield yourself from, heart bruised and aching from the ruthless beat down it had been forced to endure. It’s been a really long night.

Chanyeol is the one to finally open the door, face flushed and swollen, pink lips dry and pouted, dark hair unruly and disheveled with a ridiculous cowlick you would find incredibly amusing if not for the crushing weight of the night’s previous events still weighing heavily on your chest.

“Y/n?” He rasps, blinking hard twice, as if he hadn’t recognized you at first. You wouldn’t hold it against him, you probably look like a drowned rat in your current state.

A shaky grin pulls at your lips, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Hey, Yeol.”

His brows furrow and he swipes a large hand down the length of his face. “What time is it? What– what are you doing here?” There’s no malice in the question, only drowsy confusion as he tries to put the puzzle pieces together in his sleep hazed mind.

Instead of answering, you tip your chin forward and ask one of your own. “Mind if I come in? It feels like my fingers are about to fall off.”

All of a sudden his eyes pop open real wide and he gasps, as if just then realizing that you were standing outside his door in the freezing night air, drenched to the bone. He immediately ushers you inside, appearing genuinely distraught. “Jesus, you’re soaked. Did you walk here or something?”

Combing your wet hair out of your face, you offer a blunt nod of confirmation. “Yup.”

His jaw drops and he splutters in disbelief. “You walked here? In the pouring rain? Are you insane?! It’s the middle of the night! Something terrible could have happened to you! And you’re not even wearing a coat!” He gestures wildly at your waterlogged t-shirt and jeans, all drowsiness gone from his eyes.

“I’m fine, Chanyeol.” You sigh, moving past him and into the warmth of his apartment.

“Y/n, that really wasn’t smart. You should’ve called me.” He insists in that disapproving tone that reminds you of a parent scolding a petulant child.

You turn to him with raised brows, the vague outline of amusement tinging your words, “Would you have woken up?”

“You should’ve called until I did,” he shoots back without missing a beat, following close on your heel as you make your way into the living room and fall onto the couch with a soft grunt, “or you could’ve tried Baekhyun. Or literally done anything other than walk all the way here in the middle of the night in the pouring rain.”

He’s right, of course. It was dangerous walking alone at night, no matter how tough you think you are, bad things can happen to anyone. But the danger of walking the streets at night hadn’t been so much as a second thought when you left. There were far more prominent concerns plaguing your mind.

“Yeah, well.”

A beat of silence passes, and you feel the shift in Chanyeol’s gaze. You don’t dare to look over as he sinks into the space on the couch beside you, though all you really want is to lean into the comforting warmth of his body.

“Hey... are you alright?”

A painful lump forms in your throat at the question. “I—” you wince as your voice cracks, words falling dead on the tip of your tongue. Fuck. Why was it so hard to say?

“Y/n?”

The way he says your name nearly shatters the dam, and you just barely manage to pull yourself together enough to avoid turning into a sobbing mess on his couch. Snagging your lower lip roughly between your teeth, you offer a weak hum that pitches strangely in your throat– which most definitely does not go unnoticed by the boy who knows you too well for your own good.

Chanyeol’s concerned eyes sweep over your expression, those damn eyes that can see right through any mask you attempt to wear, before he speaks again in a voice so soft you could feel the steely grip around your heart ease. “Let me get you something dry to wear. Then we can make some hot cocoa and you can tell me what happened, okay?”

The idea of being dry and warm again was more than appealing enough for you to force the corners of your lips upward and manage a light nod of agreement. “Yeah.”

He shoots you a sweet smile, reaching over with a large hand to affectionately ruffle your wet hair and pushing himself off of the couch before you can retaliate. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move, I don’t need you and all your drippiness flooding the apartment. I’m pretty sure you’ve already ruined our new couch.” He teases lightheartedly, that familiar bubbling laughter erupting from his lips as you swing your middle finger up at him.

You feel yourself deflate somewhat when he vanishes into his bedroom, leaving you alone once more. It was unusually quiet. Though understandable given the time, you aren’t used to the silence of the apartment and find yourself craving Chanyeol’s booming voice and Baekhyun’s obnoxious teasing. Without them, there’s nothing to distract your scrambled mind, and you can’t stop it from lingering on the frustration and sense of betrayal that torments your heart. Squeezing your eyes shut, you sink into the plush cushions, a soft groan escaping your tensed lips.

This. Sucks.

Luckily, you aren’t alone long enough to dwell on it too deeply.

Your head snaps up at the sound of a door thudding shut, a murmur of gratitude on the tip of your tongue, but you are surprised to see a very much still half asleep Baekhyun come stumbling into the living room, donning a pair of plaid pajama pants and a tight white t-shirt that hugs the gentle swells of his chest. His eyes are barely open as he all but throws himself onto the couch, immediately curling up into your side. You only chuckle, nuzzling your nose into his cinnamon scented hair and petting down his unruly bed head as it tickles your chin.

“You’re wet.” Is the first thing he murmurs into the silence, voice thick and hoarse in his throat. You can’t suppress the shiver that ripples down the length of your spine as his warm breath washes over your icy skin, the sharp contrast in temperature startling to your senses.

“I didn’t notice.” You hum, resting your cheek against the top of his head.

“And cold.” He grumbles additionally, arms coiling tightly around the curve of your waist and tugging you flush against him. The heat of his body is more than welcome, and you’re happy to allow him to cuddle into you. It’s easy to find comfort in his familiar embrace.

“Chanyeol is getting me something else to wear.”

His head tips back at that, and you have to draw away to keep your noses from colliding. Hooded eyes drag slowly over your face, warm and searching. You swallow nervously under the intensity of his scrutinizing gaze and quickly turn away, hoping he hadn’t seen the tell tale signs of your internal turmoil. But it seems both of your best friends are more observant than you give them credit for.

You jolt in surprise as he suddenly grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to face him again. The unexpected proximity has warmth rushing into your cheeks, and you clear your throat, eyes looking anywhere but his face. Nonetheless he still manages to read you like the pages of a children’s book.

“You’ve been crying.”

Instinctively, you try to put some distance between you and him, swatting his hand away and plastering an unconvincing scowl across your face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His lips part, and you brace yourself, knowing by the look on his face alone that he’s going to push the matter.

“Ah, Baekhyun, you’re awake.” You let out a breath of relief as Chanyeol steps out of his room, a set of black sweats and a towel draped over his arm. Perfect timing. Baekhyun nearly topples over as you jump up from the couch, quickly making your way over to where the younger boy stands. “Y/n, I got y—”

“Thanks, I’ll go change.” You rush out, cutting him off abruptly as you pull the clothes from his arms. You manage a quick smile of gratitude before you’re hurrying past him and into the bathroom, slamming the door more harshly than you intended behind you.

Very subtle, y/n.

“Fuck.” You hiss through clenched teeth, silently cursing yourself out.

Moving towards the sink, you stare at your disheveled reflection in the mirror with a weak grimace. You knew you looked like a mess but damn. You really look like you’ve been put through the wringer tonight. Which, of course, you kind of had been, but still.

It takes longer than you anticipated to wriggle yourself out of your wet clothes, nearly falling on your ass more times than you care to admit out loud in your numerous attempts to peel off your jeans. But in the end, it was more than worth it to feel the soft, warm fabric of Chanyeol’s oversized clothes against your skin. The faded scent of his aftershave eases the tension in your shoulders, but you can’t fight the buzz of nerves that come to life in your stomach as you step back out the door.

The rich, sweet scent of hot chocolate is the first thing to greet you upon your return. Noting the emptiness of the living room, you come to the quick conclusion that they’re both most likely in the kitchen. On quiet feet, you shuffle over to the entrance, peeking your head around the wall. They’re facing away from you, leaning against the island and exchanging whispered words, voices just low enough that you can’t make out what they’re saying. Though, there’s little doubt in your mind that you’re the subject of their heated conversation.

Deciding to make your presence known, you clear your throat and step onto the cool tile. Two heads whip in your direction, startled. The looks on either of their faces makes you think of two children being caught doing something they definitely should not be. Exactly... what had they been talking about?

Chanyeol is the first to move, plucking up the mug from the countertop and making his way over to you. “Extra marshmallows and extra whipped cream with a pinch of cinnamon,” he says, a soft smile on his lips and a warm blush on his cheeks, “just how you like it.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, grateful for the warmth of the smooth white ceramic against your palms. “Thanks, yeol.”

“Let’s sit!” Baekhyun exclaims before you can even take a sip, hands finding your shoulders and steering you back towards the couch. You’re too focused on not spilling the contents of your cup to make any sort of objection.

It’s only when squeezed between their two bodies on their slightly too small couch, their concerned but curious eyes burning into the sides of your face, that you begin to wonder if it was the wisest idea to come here. But then remember just how badly you were craving a good hug and sigh, knowing if anyone was gonna give you one, it’d be one of these two dopey boys.

It’s obvious neither of them are going to speak first, probably not wanting to push you incase you weren’t ready to talk about it yet (though, the intensity of their stares were doing just that), so you decide to take the initiative before the awkward tension can get even more unbearable.

“We broke up.”

You bring the mug to your lips, taking a tentative sip of your gradually cooling hot chocolate as you allow them to absorb the new information.

“Well, shit.” Baekhyun coughs. Chanyeol reaches behind you to smack the back of his head, hissing something about being insensitive but you’re already more than aware of how they feel about your boyfriend— ex-boyfriend.

Since you first started talking to him, neither of the boys were his biggest fan. To their credit, they tried their best to be supportive, but it was hard to miss the dampening of the mood whenever you brought him up and the glares they’d shoot in his direction when they thought you weren’t paying attention. You called them out on their passive aggressive behavior on a number of occasions, and they were always quick to defend themselves with the claim of getting ‘bad vibes’.

Looking back, you probably should’ve given their suspicions some deeper consideration.

But you had just liked him so much. It was hard for you to see past the handsome, charming exterior to what really laid beneath. Gilded boys had always been your weakness, always enchanting you with the prettiest of lies only to shatter you with their ugly truths.

You should have known better.

“Are you alright?”

You shrug, sucking your lower lip into your mouth with a heavy exhale from your nose. “I’m fine, really. I’m just... embarrassed, I guess.”

Baekhyun blinks at you in confusion. “Embarrassed? Why are you embarrassed? He should be the embarrassed one for losing someone as amazing as you.”

“I’m embarrassed because—” you wince, bracing yourself for the response that you just know you’re about to receive, “because he dumped me.”

“What?!” Chanyeol erupts, nearly making you spill your hot cocoa from the sheer explosiveness of his reaction, “you let that literal piece of walking human trash—!”

“Chanyeol.”

At Baekhyun’s sharp interruption, the emotional younger immediately slumps, guilt painting his face as he looks at you with remorseful eyes. “I’m sorry.”

You only smile, squeezing his hand in reassurance.

“So,” Baekhyun begins cautiously, “what happened?”

No point beating around the bush now. “We were hanging out at his place. I found a pair of underwear that weren’t mine in his bedroom. Confronted him. He called me a clingy bitch and told me to get the fuck out and never come back.” You say this as nonchalantly as you can manage, but your hold on the cup tightens substantially and an unmistakable thickness rises in your throat. You curse yourself silently for feeling like shit over a guy who obviously couldn’t be bothered to give even half a shit about you.

“He cheated on you?” Chanyeol leaps up from the couch, eyes wide and furious. If you were to look close enough, you were almost certain you’d see fire burning within them.

“That fucker.” Baekhyun all but snarls, hands balling into tight fists. “What’s his address?”

“Baekhyun—” you sigh, leaning forward to set your hot chocolate down on the coffee table.

“No, I’m dead serious, what’s his address?” He pins you with a look that tells you he is very much not messing around. They were being ridiculous, angry over things they couldn’t change. It was pointless and harmful to dwell on things that had already happened. You’d much rather pick yourself up and move on than allow yourself to keep hurting over a stupid boy.

Of course, that’s easier said than done. And your best friends are not the types to just let things go. Not when the people they care about are wronged.

Chanyeol seems to be off in his own little world, ranting furiously to himself while cracking his knuckles in a way that is probably meant to be intimidating (though, to you, the giant puppy is anything but). “There’s no way I’m letting a piece of shit like him get away with this. God, I knew he was a scumbag the moment I laid eyes in him. I should’ve—”

“Guys, please.” Your voice cracks when you finally intervene, and that’s all it takes for their immediate anger to fizzle out.

The tension in their shoulders melts, their features softening drastically as they spot the glistening of tears in your eyes despite your feeble attempts to blink them away. In an instant, they’re cuddling back up against you, murmuring soft apologies and pleading for you not to cry over someone like him. But the dam is already broken, and salty tears are swelling up in your eyes and spilling down your cheeks before you can stop them.

Everything you’d been holding back comes bubbling violently towards the surface. Sobs wrack your chest, and you cling onto the hands of either boy as they watch you helplessly.

Chanyeol, the big softie that he is, has to bite his lip to keep the tears threatening to swell in his own eyes at bay. He’s never been good at holding himself together when he sees you hurting. He feels everything with his entire being, his empathy for his friends and the people he cares about on another level. But that big, stupid heart of his is one of the many reasons you adore him.

Baekhyun, on the other hand, is not the most suave when it comes to comforting people. Most of the time he’ll try to crack jokes and make light of the situation, but he knew better than to break out his usual antics when you were in such a state. So he held his tongue, opting to wrap his hand around yours in hopes of comforting you in even the slightest.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” You groan once your sobs subside into sniffles and you feel the warm flush of embarrassment filtering into your cheeks at your own outburst. You really hated crying in front of people. So it wasn’t too often that your friends, or anybody for that matter, saw such a raw display from you. “It’s just so frustrating and humiliating, you know?”

There’s a moment of silence as you wipe the tears from your face with the hand not held in a death grip by Baekhyun. It’s the nice kind of silence though, the kind you don’t have to fill and don’t really want to, encasing the three of you in a little bubble of comfort. Of course, with these two, you can’t expect it to last long.

“If I ever see him again,” Chanyeol huffs, dropping his chin onto your shoulder, “it’s on sight.”

You laugh at that, the sound hoarse and nasally and just plain awful, but genuine nonetheless. Raising a hand, you comb it through his soft black locks in a show of gratitude.

“Baek?” You turn to him with a sniffle. He hums softly in acknowledgement, tracing comforting circles against the top of your hand. “Do you have anything to drink?”

“What? Is my hot cocoa not good enough for you?” He teases light-heartedly and you chuckle, shaking your head.

“It’s delicious. But I was thinking of something… a little stronger.”

A mischievous grin upturns the corners of his lips as he realizes what you’re suggesting. “I’ve got just what you need.”

“You know what, FUCK MEN. They’re all stupid. Who needs ‘em? Not me.”

“Yeah men are assholes!” Baekhyun agrees loudly, thrusting his empty shot glass in the air, before pausing and reconsidering his words. “Wait, I’m a man.”

“You and Yeol are the only exceptions.” You reassure, slapping your hand down on his shoulder. He grins widely at that, satisfied. “But every other man— they can all suck my dick,” you continue your tirade, swinging your hands around animatedly, “they’re all liars and cheats and idiots and I’ve had enough of they’re bullshit to last three lifetimes.”

Chanyeol giggles softly from where he’s situated on the floor between your legs which are draped lazily over either of his broad shoulders, his head resting on your thigh, obviously amused by your tipsy antics.

The first shot went down hard, more bitter than your resentment for your piece of shit ex-boyfriend. The second soothed the ache in your chest and allowed for the tension in your muscles to gradually ebb away. And the third? Well, you opted to take your time sipping on that one, not wanting to completely lose yourself in the intoxicating buzz.

You were never the biggest drinker, but sometimes a few shots of something a little stronger than beer helps take the edge off. Right now seems as good a time as any for some liquid courage.

“You wanna know the worst part?”

However, one of the biggest reasons you erred on the side of caution around alcohol was because you had a tendency to spill things that didn’t necessarily need to be exposed. Especially not to your tipsy best friends at three in the morning when emotions ran high and couldn’t be easily stifled.

“What?” Baekhyun leans closer, eyes wide and burning with curiosity at the sudden somberness of your voice. Chanyeol tilts his head back at the shift in tone, looking up at you through dark lashes.

“In the three years we were together,” the two boys strain their ears as your voice drops into a careful whisper, as if someone other than them was around to hear the secret you hadn’t dared to share with a single soul up until this point, “he only ate me out once.”

For a moment, you think the disbelief that flashes across their faces is because you’ve brought up something of a sexual nature. But that thought is quickly squashed.

“Once? In three years? Is he insane?!”

“Shows what kind of man he really is.” Baekhyun scoffs, clicking his tongue. “Did you go down on him?”

You nod in reluctant confirmation, still sober enough to feel the slightest pinch of shame at your admission.

“That’s not how it works! Sex is about give and take, balance,” Chanyeol enunciates the word carefully, and you can’t help the upward twitch of your lips at the seriousness of his expression and the passion behind his words, “You can’t just receive without giving anything back!”

“He said he didn’t like it. And he only did it that one time because we fought on my birthday two years ago and he felt bad.” You explain, pouting heavily as you recall all the times he refused to go down on you.

Baekhyun blanches, jaw dropping. “You haven’t been eaten out in two years? Oh, baby...” you can feel the empathy rolling off of them in thick waves as they allow the new information to really sink in.

“I know, I know! Please don’t make me think about it anymore.” You whine distraughtly, rubbing your hands roughly down your face as frustration and annoyance bubble up inside of you. “I’m already pent up enough as is. That selfish bastard— he couldn’t even make up for it with his stupid dick either. He was all talk when it came to things like that. He only ever cared about getting himself off. It didn’t matter if I felt good as long as he could get his dick wet. What bullshit! Do you even know how many orgasms I had to fake?!”

Everything you’d kept inside comes exploding out of you in a rush of fiery passion, refusing to remain bottled up for even a moment longer. But of course, the moment it’s out and unable to be taken back, you regret saying anything about it at all. Red hot embarrassment floods your senses and you sink in on yourself, slapping a hand over your offending lips.

Damnit. You really shouldn’t have taken that third shot.

“Fuck. I’m sorry. That was— I shouldn’t have—” you attempt to backtrack, mouth twisted into a grimace.

There’s an exchange of glances that you don’t see, too wrapped up in your own humiliation to notice.

Then, a gentle hand slides over your thigh and you jolt in surprise, head snapping up to find a very serious Baekhyun looking back at you. You’d never seen this kind of expression on his face before. It was different then his usual playful grin or teasing smirk. Darker, somehow... dangerous. Like he was looking right through you and seeing everything you’d kept so carefully bottled up inside. It incites within you a vulnerability you had long forgotten.

“When was the last time you came?”

The question catches you off guard, to say the very least.

“Shit, i-it’s not like I keep track.” You laugh weakly, trying not to focus on the warmth seeping into your lower belly or the proximity of their bodies. But then his fingers are feathering over the curve of your knee and your heart is picking up speed and you’re left wondering at which point this conversation took such a turn.

Between your legs, Chanyeol shifts and your gaze snap down just in time to see him turn to face you fully, something dark and unfamiliar stirring within those big brown eyes. On instinct, you try to close your legs, but the sheer largeness of his body nestled comfortably between them prevents you from doing anything of the sort.

There’s no ignoring the rush of heat that ignites in your core, the closeness too much for your body to process all at once, only fueled by the long neglected desire for some kind of release.

And the fact that all he needed to do was get just a little bit closer—

But those are most definitely not the types of thoughts you should be having about your best friends. No matter how attractive they are. No matter how good Baekhyun’s pretty hand feels, slowly edging it’s way higher and higher up your thigh. No matter how cute the look on Chanyeol’s face is, a searing blush turning his full cheeks a fiery shade of red that easily consumes the entirety of his handsome face.

Fuck. Why was he looking at you like that?

“Y/n…”

Oh god. Why did your name have to sound like that coming from his lips?

Baekhyun’s fingers find your chin, gently coaxing your attention away from the man kneeling before you and back onto him. Your breathing has become shallow and fast, the insufficient amount of oxygen making you feel somewhat lightheaded. But the sensation is not a wholly unwelcome one. Not when his own smooth, liquor stained breath is like ambrosia on your tongue— heavy and rich and dangerously tempting.

“That piece of shit couldn’t make you feel good, could he?”

“No.” You swallow around the word, willing your treacherous eyes away from the entrancing curve of his pink mouth.

“No…” he repeats softly, tracing his thumb lightly over the flesh of your lower lip, “but I can— we can.” He lowers his gaze, tempting yours to follow as he ticks a brow at the younger boy. “… can’t we, Chanyeol?”

“Yes.” Chanyeol breathes without a moment’s hesitation, nuzzling his nose against the inside of your knee, warm fingertips teasing the cool skin of your ankles before he’s quickly amending, “if it’s what you want.”

Baekhyun’s lips feather over the shell of your burning ear and you feel consumed.

“Do you want it?”

“This is crazy.” It’s a deliberate avoidance of the question and you both know it.

He cocks his head, the corner of his lip curling into a teasing little grin that makes you feel like he can read your mind. “Is it?”

Yes. The word is on the tip of your tongue. But you would be a dirty, filthy liar if you said it had never crossed your mind.

The thought of you and them.

Usually one... sometimes both.

But those had just been fleeting fantasies when nothing else could satiate the unrelenting heat in your belly, shameful fantasies that, for the most part, you kept locked up tight in the furthest corner of your mind and only let out at the darkest hour of the night, when the midnight winds carried away the trembling breaths of their names, a whispered secret shared only between you and the moon. Only then would you dare to bask in their phantom caresses, allow your mind to conjure up images of their faces, twisted in beautiful bliss.

It was a dangerous game you played, but god, it felt too good to be wrong.

Or maybe that was just you trying to rationalize getting off to the thought of your best friends.

After a few moments of you grappling for the right words, Baekhyun tentatively intervenes with the thick, tension-filled silence that had encased the space around you. “It’s okay if you don’t want to. No pressure from us, sweetheart. I understand two at once can be a bit... intimidating.”

Though he started out in a tone that suggested reassurance and understanding, that last phrase, donning an underlying pitch of provocation, gives you pause.

“Are you suggesting you don’t think I could handle the two of you?” There’s a low scoff to your words, a spark of competitiveness that only Byun Baekhyun himself could draw out of you igniting in your stomach.

He smiles at you innocently, walking two fingers up the length of your thigh. “Not at all.” Something about the glint in his eye tells you that that is exactly what he was suggesting.

A light pout touches your lips and you lower your gaze to the man on the floor. “Chanyeol?”

You don’t need to elaborate for him to understand what you’re asking, that familiar boyish grin curling across his face as he props his chin on top of your knee.

“I think you could handle me just fine.”

A shiver ricochets down your spine at the divine way the words drip from his lips, thick and honey like, sensual in their suggestive nature. You hold his burning stare for a few moments longer than you probably should have, feeling yourself slowly being devoured by the dark, ravenous hunger that swirls within it. This was a fire you were not accustomed to seeing ablaze in Chanyeol. You were used to the fire of his competitiveness, the searing flame of his imperishable passion.

But this— this was something new all together.

If you were to touch him, you wonder if you would be able to feel the savage heat of it against your fingertips.

At your sides, your hands itch to find out. But a gentle tug at the string of your- er, Chanyeol’s sweatpants pulls your mind away from that specific thought. You can’t help the shaky gasp that catches in your throat at the sight of Baekhyun’s hands hovering dangerously close to your heat. You can only watch, melting into a puddle of pure need as he twirls the string nonchalantly around his beautiful fingers, slipping his two middle digits into one of the loops and proceeding to curl them in a way that made your mind jump to highly inappropriate possibilities.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

His teeth graze the shell of your ear and the wetness forming between your thighs increases tenfold as the smooth tenor of his voice thrums through your skull.

“I’d love for you to prove me wrong.”

You’re not sure who leaned in first. But the next thing you know, your lips are on his. There’s no time to dwell on the fact that you’re kissing your best friend, your mind rapidly growing hazy from the unexpected intensity. There’s a certain viciousness in his ministrations, a brutality to his lust that he breathes into your lungs and sends blazing through your veins. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced before.

You can’t help the surprised moan that escapes you when he takes your tongue between his lips and sucks, a low content hum reverberating through his chest before he releases you with a lewd ‘pop’.

“Fuck,” he groans languidly, “You taste like chocolate, baby.”

Calloused hands are curling around your jaw before you can fully recuperate, drawing your attention away from Baekhyun just in time to see Chanyeol’s rapidly approaching face. His dark eyes are hooded and wanting, the faintest of pouts residing on his red-bitten mouth as he breathes in an almost whining tone, “I wanna taste.”

You can think of no reason to object.

His lips slip over yours with a gentleness that is almost staggering. Despite his impatience, there’s an underlying hesitance to his motions, an uncertainty that gives you the feeling that… he’s waiting for you to take the lead. And you do such with fervor.

Raising a hand, you slip gentle fingers up the length of his throat and give an experimental squeeze, not hard enough to do anything other than apply a bit of pressure, but just enough to get your message across.

I’m in charge.

The delighted moan he produces in response makes your lips curl devilishly.

But you’re not given the opportunity to relish in the hot rush of power long, a second pair of lips attaching to your throat making you waver. A hot tongue laves over your collarbone, followed by the sharp pressure of teeth and your jaw goes slack.

Did Baekhyun just bite you?

And… why didn’t you hate it?

Chanyeol takes your open mouth as an invitation, smoothly tilting his head and deepening the kiss. Fuck. He tastes like cinnamon and liquor, a combination you had no idea could be so addictive.

Mind dazed and sufficiently distracted, you don’t notice the hand slipping beneath the fabric of your sweats until a shock of pleasure bolts up your spine. You gasp, breaking the kiss as your eyes drop in order to see which of the two boys is the culprit. Baekhyun lets out a low groan, feathering gentle touches over the soaking fabric of your underwear.

“You’re so fucking wet, baby.” He growls dangerously in your ear. “We’ve barely even started. Are you already that excited?”

You shudder involuntarily, only managing a hoarse moan when he grinds the heel of his palm against your clit. He chuckles tauntingly, as if you’ve just proved his point, but you can’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed with the way his skilled fingers are stroking your clothed heat.

The heaviness of Chanyeol’s gaze boring into you, devouring every detail of your blissed expression, only serves in making the sensations all the more intense. You attempt to grind yourself down into Baekhyun’s touch, seeking more friction, only to whimper in dismay as he withdraws completely, leaving you cold, unsatisfied, and aching for more.

“Baekhyun—”

“Take them off.” The abruptness of the command has your breath catching in your throat and a telling warmth fluttering through your core. You weren’t accustomed to hearing Baekhyun’s voice like this, so different from his usually light hearted teasing and playful jibes that it throws you for a moment. He cocks a brow amid your stunned silence, licking over the seam of his lip. “What? You need help?”

Snapping yourself out of it, you swing your gaze over to Chanyeol, offering him a cheeky, lopsided grin. “Can’t say I’d mind it.”

“I’m happy to lend a hand.” He hums, shooting you a playful wink that has a wide smile breaking across your face. He makes quick work of your borrowed sweats, easily tugging the loose fabric down the length of your legs and casting it aside carelessly. You watch the way his eyes flit greedily over the expense of your bare thighs, relishing the low, strained groan that flutters from his gaping lips when his attention fixes on the thin, black, lacy material that separates him from your soaking pussy.

“Those, too,” you instruct softly, sinking your teeth into the inside of your cheek. He swallows, and goes to reach for them, only to draw back abruptly when you swat his hands away with a sound of disapproval, “uh-uh. Do it with your teeth.”

Chanyeol’s breath hitches, a severe blush rushing into his cheeks.

Beside you, Baekhyun grins wildly. “That’s my girl.”

You smirk to yourself at the praise, but don’t remove your eyes from Chanyeol’s for a single moment, absolutely loving the pretty shade of red his handsome face has taken on.

Slowly, he dips his head, not daring to break your gaze as he latches his teeth onto the thin black lace on your underwear and begins to drag them down the length of your legs. Goosebumps erupt across your skin, soothed by the press of his hot palms as they trail his descent down your thighs, over the curves of your knees, down your calves, until you are left bare and exposed before them.

Fuck. That was so hot.

“Cute, isn’t he?” Baekhyun hums playfully against your jaw, like the whisper of the devil in your ear. You let out a trembling breath as the younger boy presses a gentle kiss to the inside of your knee, nodding with an airy sigh of ‘ so cute’. Baekhyun nips at the juncture of your throat, and you can only watch with bated breath as he reaches a hand between your thigh, dragging his long middle finger through your folds, teasing at your entrance. “Want your sweet Chanyeollie to eat your pretty cunt, baby? Hm? Want him to make you feel good?”

Your chest rises rapidly, fast, shallow breaths swirling into your lungs. His filthy words curl beneath your nose, thrumming in your ears, intoxicating and disorienting in their deadly temptation. Desperation tugs at every nerve in your body and your hips buck and roll, chasing his caress. Want pools, dark and heavy, in Chanyeol’s hooded eyes as he watches his friend’s teasing ministrations. He licks his lips, full and pink and glistening in the low light of their apartment and you feel yourself clench around nothing.

“Fuck yes.” The words are nothing less than a growl in the back of your throat, a sound you never thought yourself capable of producing.

Baekhyun suddenly reaches forward, weaving his fingers through Chanyeol’s thick hair and tugging him forward. The younger gives no resistance, bracing his hands on your lower thighs as he allows himself to be guided to you. His lips part, tongue peeking out, and your anticipation skyrockets. But then he stops just short, and all you’re left with is the faint caress of his warm breath to soothe the insatiable ache between your hips. You almost whimper.

Chanyeol’s nostrils flare, eyes sharpening in annoyance as he shoots a glare up in Baekhyun’s direction. He only grins and arches a brow. “What? You’re not gonna ask for it first? Where are your manners, Yeol?” He gasps mockingly, eyes twinkling with mirth.

You don’t expect Chanyeol to give in at first, not with how competitive he could be and especially not with Baekhyun acting so damn condescending. But then he does, and you forget how to breathe.

“Please, y/n,” he pants hotly against your skin, “I wanna taste you so bad. I wanna make you feel good, baby. Let me make you feel good. Please. Fuck, please.” A low, needy groan trembles in the back of his throat, clinging to that last ravenous plea. He snags his lower lip between his teeth and you feel yourself throb. The man looks down right sinful, Baekhyun still clutching onto his inky locks, forcing a slight strain in his neck as he looks up at you with those damn eyes that make your stomach churn and your mind spin.

God, he’s so beautiful.

Overwhelmed with the need to touch him, you nudge Baekhyun’s hand out of the way and replace it with your own, immediately loving the feeling of Chanyeol’s soft hair sliding between your fingers. His eyes flutter under the gentleness of your grip, lips parting as he breathes a delicate sigh, gazing up at you expectantly.

“Come here, Yeolie.”

He’s more than happy to comply.

The first stroke of his tongue sends sparks of electricity shooting through your entire body, a silent gasp shaping your lips. He looks up at you through dark lashes, encouraged and invigorated by your responsiveness to him, licking eagerly at your cunt. Soft moans flutter through his chest, and you shiver at the faint vibrations that are sent pulsing through you.

“Fuck, Chan,” you hiss, rocking your hips forward when he laves over your clit. The friction makes your skin tremble, a dangerous heat rising beneath it. If you knew he was this good with his mouth, you would have jumped his bones a whole lot sooner.

Another moan builds in your chest, but it’s abruptly stifled when Baekhyun tangles a hand into your hair and pulls you into a kiss that doesn’t fail to knock the air out of your lungs. Having both of their mouths on you makes your head spin and you can’t decide which to focus on. You’ve never been with more than one person at the time and it’s slightly overwhelming to suddenly have two men— two gorgeous men at that, both eager and willing to give you more pleasure than you’ve ever experienced.

Warm fingers suddenly slip beneath the thick fabric of your sweatshirt, and you shiver as they glide over your skin, light and teasing in advance towards your chest. A tremor wracks your spine when he pinches a nipple, squeezing his digits around the shape of your breast. Your back arches unconsciously, and you feel him smirk. Distracted, you don’t feel the burn of Chanyeol’s impatient glare until his teeth sink into the soft flesh of your inner thigh.

Yelping in shock, you snap your gaze back down to the younger boy, disbelief coloring your features. He has the audacity to smirk at you, cocking a brow in a manner that has a mixture of annoyance and arousal flaring up in your gut. Any glimmer of smug accomplishment is quickly washed from his face when your hand shoots down and roughly grips the hair on the back of his head, yanking him upwards until your nose to nose.

“Watch your teeth, Yeolie.” You murmur darkly.

“Or what?” The corner of your mouth twitches at his gutsy response.

“Or I’ll make sure to edge you until you cry.”

His eyes widen at the threat and he swallows thickly. From your peripheral, you see the crotch of his grey sweatpants rise.

“Oh? But it looks like you’d like that.” A deep crimson flush rushes into his ears and tinges the tips of his ears and he lowers his eyes, unable to hold your mirthful gaze any longer. “I guess I’ll just have to think of a better punishment.”

“I’m sorry,” his voice comes out airy and desperate, the natural rasp making the knot in your stomach tighten, “I promise I’ll be good.”

“Will you?”

“Yes.” You search his blown pupils for any sign of dishonesty, but find only sincerity and intoxicating lust. Satisfied, you release your tight grip on his hair in favor of gently stroking your knuckles over his blushing cheek.

“Then be a good boy and show me what this pretty mouth,” you trace your thumb gently over the soft, pink flesh of his lower lip, “can really do.”

The moment he’s released from your entrancing gaze, his mouth is on you again, eating you out with a fervor you’ve never before experienced. Your hips buck against him, your head tipping back as you let out rasping groans.

“Fuck, Yeol. That’s it, baby. Good boy.” He moans against you as spill praise after praise, lapping hungrily at your soaking pussy.

“That was so fucking sexy.” Baekhyun growls roughly, kissing you hard once before he’s pulling away to speak again. “Watching you boss him around, take control like that…” his voice drawls into a low groan, “really does something to me.”

“Yeah?” You ask shakily, mind whirling as Chanyeol buries his tongue inside of you. Baekhyun grins, humming lightly in confirmation. “Maybe you should let me boss you around, too.”

“Not a chance.” He chuckles. “Maybe next time. But tonight…” your mouth falls open in a silent gasp as he wraps a hand around your throat, squeezing ever so gently, “your mine, sweetheart.”

Next time. He said next time.

There’s going to be a next time.

The amount of joy you receive from those two simple words borders on irrational.

“I— oh fuck!” You can only cry out in bliss as Chanyeol wraps his lips around your clit, sucking roughly. Your hips jerk and grind, moving on their own accord as he draws you closer and closer to your high. God, you’re so close you can taste it. Your trembling hands find purchase in his hair once more, desperate to hold onto something as the coil in your stomach grows tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment.

“You gonna cum all over Yeolie’s tongue, baby? You gonna cum for us?” Baekhyun coos encouragingly against your jaw, and you can only whimper and nod frantically, unable to speak when Chanyeol sinks a long finger into your wet cunt, fucking you skillfully with his digit while he focuses his mouth on abusing your throbbing clit until your reduced to little more than a trembling, whimpering mess on their living room couch.

“Yes— oh god, yes.”

When the coil snaps, it snaps hard. You can only manage a strangled whimper when it crashes over you. How long had it been since you last come on something other than your own hand? Weeks? Months? You can’t recall. But honestly how much does it really matter when your best friend’s face is nestled snug between your thighs?

The muscles of your legs seize and tremble beneath the force of your release, only held open by Chanyeol’s strong hands. He is unrelenting even as you come undone around him, tongue rolling over your clit, finger curling against your walls as his heady, hooded eyes devour you. You only manage to get him to detach him from you when you give a weak tug at his hair, the post-orgasm sensitivity proving too much for your body to handle.

“F– fuck.” You shiver, panting as tendrils of residual pleasure lick at your senses, the cold phantom of his tongue making you clench around nothing but empty air is pathetic greed. “Fuck, come here.”

Chanyeol is quick to rise onto his knees, obedient as ever, letting out a soft gasp of surprise as you cup his face and draw him into a heated kiss. He melts into you, large hands finding purchase on your thighs (which are still shaking) and caressing them soothingly.

“Thank you,” you breathe against his mouth, “thank you. Thank you.”

You feel him smiling as you continue to express your gratitude in gentle words spoken between deep, passionate kisses and it’s not long before his smile turns into something wide and toothy and uncontainable and he’s bursting into a fit of giggles as you resort to peppering the rest of his face in playful kisses.

“Easy now, sweetheart. Save the aftercare for when we’re done, yeah?” Baekhyun’s lilting hum draws your attention, and you look at him with wide eyes.

“We’re not done?”

His brows jump, that familiar lopsided smirk offsetting his pretty lips. “Are you kidding me? We’ve got two years worth of orgasms to make up for. We’re nowhere near finished.” A shiver of excitement ricochets down your spine at the promise laced into his words, and you have to bite your lip to keep a wide grin at bay.

Suddenly, Baekhyun rises from the couch and it’s with immense effort that you refrain from staring directly at the prominent bulge straining against the thin fabric of his plaid pajama pants. Swallowing thickly, you look up at him as he extends a hand. “Come on. The bedroom is much more comfortable to get your brains fucked out in. Speaking from experience.” You scoff at the sleazy smirk he shoots you, but slide your hand into his nonetheless.

The moment you’re on your feet, your knees buckle and you nearly topple. Luckily for you, Chanyeol has remarkable reflexes (when it counts) and catches you by the waist, pulling you flush against his chest.

“Shit, Yeol. You really did a number on her.” Baekhyun remarks teasingly. A feverish blush rises up your neck and you shoot him a glare.

“Shut up.”

He bites the corner of his lip, gives you a heated once over that leaves your skin burning and trembling, before spinning on his heels sauntering in the direction of his bedroom door. He stops in the frame for a brief moment and shoots you a sultry wink from over his shoulder. “Come make me.”

Fuck.

Chanyeol let’s out a yelp of surprise as you lace your fingers through his and tug him hurriedly in the direction of his roommate’s bedroom. The very second that you’re through the door, lips connect with yours, stealing the very air from your lungs and obliterating any last remaining bit of your sanity. Hands seize your half naked body, eagerly exploring the expanse of your feverish skin. They tug at the hindering fabric of your sweatshirt, until all at once it is being pulled over your head and cast off carelessly somewhere in the darkness. You don’t even shiver, the heat of their bodies surrounding you and warding off the cool air.

Chanyeol takes the opportunity to slide a hand beneath your chin and tilt your head back so that it rests on his shoulder, the tip of his tongue flicking over your lips until they part, welcoming him in. Reaching back, you grab hold of his hips, tugging them forward and guiding them in a slow grinding motion against your ass. He moans hotly at the frictions, kiss turning sloppy as pleasure rushes through him.

You’re distinctly aware of the pressure of Baekhyun’s own mouth beginning a slow descent, starting from your jaw, gliding down the length of your throat, pausing to lick and suck at your sensitive nipples, kissing with a staggering tenderness over your belly. Then you hear his knees hit the floor. All at once, his tongue flattens against your clit, and you have to break away from Chanyeol as your body jolts violently in response. There’s still lingering sensitivity from your first orgasm, amplifying the pleasure tenfold.

And god, it’s so good.

“F– fuck, Baek—” your voice breaks off into a trembling whimper, hips bucking as he sinks a finger into your heat. Followed shortly thereafter by a second. Then a third. The stretch has you keening, leaning the full weight of your body against Chanyeol’s sturdy chest. He’s the only thing keeping you upright at the moment. Had you been left to your own devices, you would have already collapsed.

“Gotta make sure you’re ready for us, baby.” Baekhyun hums with a lightness entirely unfitting for the current situation, nipping at the inside of your thigh. He supplies you with a slow, calculated thrust, biting his lip harshly as he watches your glistening arousal coat his digits. “Fucking hell, your soaking.”

You whimper shakily, head tipping back as Chanyeol nips and sucks at the juncture of your throat, his large hands gliding over the shape of your body as if he intends to commit it to memory— caressing every curve, fondling every edge, touching you, worshipping you with a reverence that pours into your very soul. You’ve never been touched like this before. Most men just think they have a right to you the second your clothes are off (some even before that). There’s no respect, no appreciation, nothing but dirty lust.

But this— this is different. It’s a feeling you can’t quite put into words. The way he’s touching you, like you’re a precious work of art, it makes you feel good. It makes you feel… beautiful. Something you rarely, if ever, felt when you were with your ex.

Baekhyun swirls his tongue around your clit and simultaneously curls his fingers, successfully stroking that long neglected bundle of nerves inside of you. The sensations it sets off inside of you are intense and overwhelming, and within seconds you’re coming for a second time. This orgasm comes completely unexpectedly and without any real warning outside of the breakneck explosion of pleasure that has stars scattering across your vision.

“Baek—!” you can only manage a broken yelp of his name as your body convulses above him, wracked and disoriented by the sudden, explosive burst of ecstasy. Now your shivering, trembling and gasping violently, but not from the cold. He watches in wonder as you unravel, clenching so tightly around his fingers that he can only begin to imagine what you’ll feel like coming around his cock. Shit, he can’t wait to be inside of you. He’s throbbing at the mere thought of it.

Chanyeol’s no better off, barely holding himself back from rutting against you like some kind of animal. But he wants to impress you, show you he has some semblance of self control even when it feels like he might burst in his pants at any given moment. He wants to be good for you. So for now, he can only watch with bated breath, painfully hard in his sweats, as your face contorts into an expression of pure bliss. God, you look so beautiful like this he almost can’t stand it. How could anyone let someone like you go?

“Holy f-fuck.” You whimper, attempting to catch your breath as your high begins to fade. Baekhyun has plastered a cocky grin across his face by the time you look down at him, though his eyes still sparkle with something indecipherable.

“That was a good one.” He says, carefully retracting his fingers from your heat as Chanyeol hums in agreement, nuzzling his nose behind your ear comfortingly when you shudder and whine at the emptiness. “We’re gonna break her at this rate.”

“Not a chance,” you interject firmly, albeit somewhat breathlessly, “I’m a lot tougher than you think.” It’s the truth, but the quiver in your voice begs to differ.

“So you can handle another one?” Baekhyun asks, rising to his full height.

You hold his fiery gaze. “I can handle anything you give me.”

Something in his eyes darkens. “Careful, sweetheart. You have… no idea the kind of filthy, depraved things I want to do to you.” His voice drops an octave, and, despite having already come twice (twice as many times as you were used to), your greedy cunt still throbs with need.

Boldly, you extend a hand, caressing over his clothed length, and feel a surge of pride when he inhales sharply, hard gaze faltering.

Leaning forward, you feather your lips over his, teasing. It’s a dangerous game you're playing, you know that. But you’re enjoying it far too much to stop now.

“Show me.”

Those two little words are all it takes to break Byun Baekhyun.

“Bed. Now.”

Perhaps you’re just a little too eager to comply, barely biting back a grin of excitement as you turn tail and scramble to his king sized bed.

The disheveled sheets welcome you into their embrace, still warm in the spot Baekhyun had occupied prior your unannounced visit. They smell of him, you notice, the coconut of his shampoo, the milk & honey of his body wash, the soft vanilla of his perfume. You recognize the latter as the bottle he “borrowed” from you a few months back and had yet to return. Not that you really mind. You secretly like the fact that he smells like you.

Chanyeol is first to round the side of the bed, ridding himself of his clothes along the way. Shirt first, then pants, and you can’t help but giggle as he hops clumsily out of his boxers, nearly bumping into the nightstand before he falls gracelessly onto the mattress beside you, offering up a sheepish grin.

“Sexy, aren’t I?” Sarcasm bleeds through his tone, embarrassment hot on his cheeks, though it’s quickly soothed as you draw him into a gentle kiss.

“Excruciatingly.” You enunciate teasingly, nipping at the tip of his nose.

The bed dips around your ankles, and you peer down to see a very primal looking Baekhyun crawling towards you, like a predator honing in on his prey. The carnal hunger pooling in his hooded eyes hits you straight in the chest, and for a moment you forget how to breathe.

Slotting himself between your hips, you could easily make out every inch of his length resting against your stomach, hot and hard and throbbing. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted anyone inside of you this badly. His head lowers to your throat and he sets your skin ablaze with open mouthed kisses. Chanyeol makes sure the opposite side of your neck isn’t neglected long, feeling the erratic pulsing of your carotid artery beneath the slow strokes of his tongue. Your head falls back into the pillows, a sigh fluttering from your lips as you’re bathed in their affections.

Baekhyun slips a hand beneath your knee, hooking it over his hip. Your lungs tremble with excitement when he slides his tip slowly through your wet folds.

“I’m gonna fuck you until you see stars.”

“I already have,” you smirk lazily in response, snagging the corner of your lip between your teeth, “Twice.”

He doesn’t seem discouraged, curving a hand around the shape of your jaw and feathering his mouth over yours as his eyes glint with something sinful and electrifying. “Then I’m gonna show you the goddamn galaxy.”

There’s no time to respond before his hips are rolling forward, filling you to the hilt with one smooth stroke. A breathless gasp trembles from his throat, “fuck.”

“Does she feel good?” The question that escapes Chanyeol is weak and needy, strained and rough, coming from somewhere deep in his chest. He almost sounds like he’s struggling, battling with himself internally as he watches his best friend’s cock disappear inside of our cunt with a lewd squelch. The searing heat of his gaze makes you whine in pathetic desperation, no longer unable to form coherent words to express your desire.

“Fucking Christ, Yeol. She’s so tight a-and wet— ah, fucking perfect.” Baekhyun’s shoulders arch, a tremor rippling down his spine as your walls constrict around him, squeezing so tightly he almost loses himself then and there. But he manages to hold back, bracing a hand on your hip as he pushes himself up right.

“Baek, please.”

There’s no need for elaboration. He knows exactly what you’re asking for. And hell, he’s more than happy to provide.

The first thrust of his hips has your back arching off of the mattress, mouth opening in silent bliss. The pace he sets is punishing, fast and deep and rough. His blunt nails dig harshly into the flesh of your hips, but you relish in it, pain and pleasure coming together to create the perfect cocktail. The lingering sensitivity from your two previous orgasms only serves to heighten the ecstasy that you're experiencing. And with Chanyeol pressed against your side, large, calloused hands and gentle lips making sure each and every inch of you is receiving attention, it doesn’t take long at all before you feel that coil in your stomach tightening.

“I’m not gonna last.” You moan weakly, clinging to Chanyeol like he’s your one and only lifeline.

“Fuck, come on, beautiful. Be a good girl and come on my cock.” Baekhyun growls, snapping his hips roughly into yours. You cry out desperately when Chanyeol trails a hand down your body, circling a careful finger around your clit.

“Oh god, please. Please, Yeol. Harder. Baek— fuck, please.” You’re on the verge of tears, muscles shuddering violently as the white hot pleasure pulses through your veins.

“Who are you begging, sweetheart?” Baekhyun grins down at you devilishly, licking at his teeth as his eyes glow with something dangerous and powerful. Your stomach whirls, and you nearly headbutt Chanyeol when your body lurches, entirely overwhelmed. It’s so much— too much— but, somehow, not enough.

Your legs squeeze around Baekhyun’s hips, heels pressing into the swells of his ass, urging him deeper as you implore him wordlessly for more. You want everything, however selfish that may sound. You want it all. Every last piece of him.

This time around, you’re more than grateful that he can read you so well.

Simultaneously, the two boys fiercen their ministrations: Baekhyun, fucking himself into you so hard that the headboard is slamming into the wall; Chanyeol, applying enough pressure to your sensitive clit that your sanity nearly flies out the window. Within seconds, entangled in the staggering heat of their bodies, you come undone.

Damn. Baekhyun wasn’t kidding about showing you the galaxy.

Never in your life have you experienced an orgasm like this. One that tears through your very being like a raging tsunami. You feel it rippling through every cell, igniting every nerve ending in fiery ecstasy.

Baekhyun is barely able to hold himself together as you unravel beneath him, his entire body trembling and sweating with the effort of fighting back his own high, which is threatening to break over him at any given second. The mere sight of you is almost enough to do him in, but he wants to make sure to ride you through yours before he allows himself even a taste of his own. Harder said than done when you look so good and feel ever better, clenching and pulsing around him and god he’s about to lose his fucking mind.

He’s panting and groaning, rolling his hips deeply into yours, keeping himself teetering dangerously on that edge. But it’s you, your voice whimpering his name, your fluttering, teary eyes barely able to keep themselves open looking up at him, that finally breaks him. He bucks into you sharply, hips spluttering, body shaking as he spills himself. It’s sudden and it’s messy and it’s the most goddamn beautiful thing you’ve ever witnessed.

The moment he’s finished, he collapses on top of you, completely out of breath and red in the face; thoroughly fucked out. But that doesn’t stop him from bathing you in whispered praises.

“You’re so amazing. You did so well. You’re so beautiful.”

His words warm your heart, which is just barely beginning to return to a more natural rhythm. They lick the wounds from the nights previous events, soothe the ache that was long forgotten in the thralls of your best friends’ soothing touch.

Baekhyun pulls out of you carefully, and you have to physically stop yourself from pouting at the emptiness and loss of the weight and warmth of his body as he rolls off of you, flopping onto the mattress at your side with a huff of hazy laughter.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs, a dopey smile plastered across his face as he tosses an arm over his eyes, “that was amazing.”

“So fucking amazing.” You emphasize, trying uselessly to catch your breath.

It’s only when you feel something nudging at your opposite hip that you're able to refocus your bleary mind on the unfinished task. You turn, finding the adorable scrunched face of Chanyeol, cheeks red, eyes wanting.

The younger boy chews on his lower lip, swallowing a groan. He’s trying his best not to come off as too desperate, but you see right through him. You see how hard he is, veins thick and throbbing beneath the angry red skin, his flushed tip weeping with precum. Honestly, you’re surprised he hasn’t touched himself yet. It looks like it hurts.

Licking your lips, you can’t help but to wonder what he might taste like, how he’d feel against your tongue, the kinds of sounds he’d make when his body was overwhelmed with pleasure. You bet he’s loud when he comes. Fuck, that deep, raspy voice would sound so good moaning your name.

… perhaps you are feeling just a little greedy.

“Yeol,” he snaps to attention at the wispy call of his name, inhaling sharply when your fingers graze his thigh, “come here.”

He blinks in confusion, not understanding what you want him to do. Recognizing the lost puppy dog look, you chuckle before elaborating in far more blunt terms to avoid further misunderstanding;

“I want you to fuck my mouth.”

If he were to open his eyes any wider, you were certain they’d fall straight out of his head. “I– I can’t– you just—” he stutters clumsily, shaking his head, but you can feel his body practically trembling in excitement at the implication of your words.

“Please. You’ve been so good for me. I wanna make you feel good, too, baby.” You coo, tugging at his knee once more before leaning up to graze your lips over the shell of his flushed ear. “Let me make you feel good, Yeolie.”

He shivers violently, a strangled moan breaking from his swollen mouth, and you smirk to yourself, knowing you’ve got him. He seems nervous as he pushes himself up and crawls to kneel next to your head before hesitating, blinking as he tries to figure the right way to position himself.

He’s cute when he’s concentrating.

“Like this—” you chime in. Chanyeol gasps and flushes a deep red when you guide him forward until his knees are on either side of your head, his hard length swinging proudly above your nose.

Reaching up, you take his large hands in yours, interlacing your fingers. “If I tap on the back of your hand—” you demonstrate, “it means stop, okay? You have to stop immediately when I do that because I won’t be able to speak.”

He nods, expression serious, “I understand. I’ll stop if you tap on my hand.”

“Good,” you pause, a gentle smile upturning the corners of your mouth, “I trust you.”

His breath hitches. “Thank you.”

Instead of responding, you tip your chin up and trace your tongue over the underside of his cock. His hips stutter forward, a surprised moan escaping him at the unexpected contact.

“Stop teasing and feed her your cock, Chanyeol. Can’t you see how bad she wants it?” Baekhyun chuckles mockingly, sliding a lithe hand around your jaw and squeezing, forcing your mouth open even wider. Chanyeol looks down at you through blown pupils, chest heaving, lust practically radiating from his every pore. But it’s only when you offer a nod of reassurance and a look that you hope gives of even the faintest of glimpses into your immense desire for this, for him, does he finally move.

With a tenderness only Park Chanyeol could possess in a position such as this, he guides himself between your awaiting lips. You moan unabashedly as the bittersweet taste of him hits your tongue, tipping your chin up to make more of him in. A shuddering moan pulses from his chest, pitched and broken on red bitten lips. The sound is somehow even more beautiful than you imagined.

Languidly, you swirl your tongue around his weeping tip, eliciting a strained whisper of your name as the grip he has on your hands tightens substantially. He offers a slow, shallow thrust, his head dropping forward as his length slides deeper into the warm cavern of your mouth. The pressure of your tongue against the underside of his cock and the heavy reverberations of your soft, encouraging moans invigorate him to set a careful rhythm, hips stroking gently forward.

Your knuckles dig into the messy sheets as he pivots his weight forward, and you quickly relax your jaw when you feel him inching closer to your throat with every thrust. Chanyeol is even more considerate than you thought he’d be, pulling out far enough between steady strokes that you can swallow lungfuls of oxygen before sliding smoothly back in, deeper and deeper each time. Tears pool in the corners of your eyes, mouth straining in order to accommodate his impressive girth. But hell, it’s worth it. Totally worth it.

His breathing became harsh and labored, filling his lungs with sharp, ragged inhales that shudder through the deep cavity of his chest. “F– fuck, y/n,” he groans hoarsely, head dipping as his eyes squeeze shut, “your mouth is— s- so good.”

Your core tightens around nothing at the rasping whimper, the faint caress of his warm breath rousing goosebumps across the damp skin of your belly. The subconscious clenching of your thighs is wholly unintentional, but it does not go unnoticed.

Chanyeol lets out a choked gasp as a hand slides into his hair, his upper body suddenly forced downwards.

“Come on, Yeolie,” Baekhyun coos tauntingly in his ear, “you were the one going on and on about balance. So why don’t you provide some… ‘give and take’, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he barely whispers, but you still feel a rush of hot breath over your core and moan throatily around his cock. He tenses and shudders in response to the delicious rush of vibrations, tightening his grip on your hands as Baekhyun guides him lower.

Honestly, you aren’t sure at first if you have another one in you. Three orgasms in one night was unimaginable before tonight. Four seemed simply unrealistic. Your poor pussy is still pulsing and trembling from the last. But the moment Chanyeol flicks his tongue over your clit, the most delicate of kitten licks, you know that you do.

This time though, it’s like molten metal boiling in the pit of your stomach, a wholly unfamiliar sensation. Each press of his lips and roll of his tongue fans the fire blazing through your veins. You try your best to keep up, hollowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue, but it’s difficult when it feels like your brain is short circuiting. The pleasure is fiercer, more intense, rolling over you in thick, devastating waves. You’re reduced to little more a moaning, writhing mess beneath him, barely able to keep yourself from choking on his cock.

Chanyeol’s hips buck frantically as your throat constricts, his own ministrations getting rougher and sloppier the closer he gets. You feel his teeth against your clit, then two long fingers slipping through your slicks folds and fucking themselves into your pussy. Baekhyun can only groan hotly at how easily you take his digits, squeezing his opposite hand around the base of his hard dick.

“I’m gonna come,” Chanyeol whimpers hurriedly, “oh fuck I’m gonna come.”

Suddenly, his hips pulse and your bottom lip make contact with the flat of his pelvis. It takes every ounce of control you have over your body to push back your gag reflex, but the way he trembles and breaks above you is undoubtedly worth the strain. A jumbled mess of words tumble from his lips as he comes, though only your name and a select few curses are intelligible between the deep, violent moans that burst from his chest.

Tears fall from the corners of your eyes as he fucks himself into your mouth, motions stuttered and sloppy. But you swallow around him eagerly as he fills your throat with his release, which only serves in prolonging his orgasm until he’s shivering and whining and hell— each sound, each tremble has the coil in your stomach squeezing tighter and tighter.

All the while, Baekhyun’s fingers are loyally exploring your silken walls until he once again discovers that small bundle of nerves that make your head spin. Combined with Chanyeol moaning and growling against your clit— you're a dead woman.

This final orgasm is the equivalent of having a bucket of ice water dumped over your head. Every hair on your body jumps to stand at attention, oxygen suddenly igniting into flames in your lungs. You scream around Chanyeol’s cock, back bowing off the mattress, eyes rolling to the back of your skull. It’s so intense you honestly feel like you might pass out. But it’s so good, too good —fuck, it’s the best you’ve ever had!— and you want to relish in every mind numbing moment.

All at once, Chanyeol is gone from between your lips and you gasp, a rush of cool air like a glass of ice water in the torrid desert flooding into your lungs and soothing the angry blaze.

“Holy shit.”

You’re too gone in the high to make out who the strained whisper had come from, or to notice the sudden substantial amount of wetness painting the insides of your thighs and seeping into the sheets below. Your brain feels thoroughly scrambled, effectively stupefied by the prodigious pleasure and you can do nothing but bask in it.

“Have you ever done that before?” It takes you a few extra seconds to realize that the question is directed at you.

“Hmm?” You hum blearily, not bothering to try and lift your head.

“Squirting,” Baekhyun clarifies, voice thick with wonder, “have you ever done that before?”

“Squirting? No, I’ve never—” your head snaps up, eyes bulging, “I squirted?!”

If the excessive arousal currently coating (and dripping from) Chanyeol’s astonished face and the unusually large wet spot staining the sheets is anything to go by, the answer is a clear yes.

Panic strikes your chest. “Oh my god. Oh my god, I- I am so—”

“Don’t apologize! Don’t you dare apologize.” Baekhyun abruptly cuts you off, splaying a hand over your belly. “That has to be the most— amazing thing I have ever seen. No girl has ever squirted on me before. I’m honestly honored.”

“Baekhyun, please.” You whine, pulling a pillow over your feverish face and snapping your legs shut.

“I’m serious!” He yelps indignantly, tugging the pillow away from you and tossing it to the side despite your noisy complaints. Two strong hands find either of your thighs and pry them apart in spite of your stubborn resistance, revealing the slippery mess you made on the sheets below.

Heat rushes up your neck as Chanyeol falls into position between them like it’s the most natural thing in the entire world and begins licking at your wet skin. The muscles of your thighs shake and tighten uncontrollably under the intimate ministrations, the post orgasm sensitivity extending beyond your core and into each of your limbs.

“Chan,” you whimper remorsefully, clenching your fingers in the duvet, “I can’t. I can’t.”

He smiles against your skin, licks turning into gentle kisses that make your heart flutter and melt in ways it definitely should not in response to your best friend’s big, sweet eyes. Then again— this entire situation is remarkably unconventional in regards to a typical friendship. Not that you’re complaining because really, how could you? Four orgasms? In one night? Unheard of. A part of you wonders if they were actually just trying to kill you.

While Chanyeol bathes you in his limitless affection, Baekhyun vanishes from your side and into the attached bathroom, returning only moments later with a towel saturated with hot water. You hum gratefully as he carefully scrubs away the sheen of sweat and sticky arousal clinging to your skin. And he’s considerate, too? Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable.

“You guys are going to ruin all other men for me, fucking hell.” You huff out a hoarse chuckle. Chanyeol suddenly flops down beside you, nuzzling his face into the juncture of your shoulder.

“Who needs other men when you have us?” He rebukes, large hand finding yours and intertwining your fingers.

You can honestly find no reason to disagree.

“Guys,” Baekhyun chimes once finished scrubbing you down, “let’s move to Chanyeol’s room. I need to throw these sheets in the washer before they get crusty. Made that mistake once. Never again.”

“I would totally do that but I’m pretty sure my legs are numb.”

“Ain’t no thang, pretty lady. I’ve got you.” Chanyeol chirps gallantly, slipping his arms beneath your legs and back. Before you can make any kind of protest, you’re being swooped off the bed and pressed into a warm chest. Shrieks of laughter peel from your lips as the gentle giant spins, and you throw your arms around his neck just for extra precaution.

“Yeolie,” Baekhyun whines mockingly, stomping his foot childishly as he plasters an exaggerated pout across his face, “you never pick me up and twirl me around like a pretty princess.”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” you tease, extending a leg and pressing your toes against his chest, “only room for one pretty princess in this apartment.”

“Oh, okay. I see how it is.” He scoffs as he stumbles back and falls dramatically back onto the mattress, hand splayed over his heart like you had somehow managed to wound him.

“Speaking of washing,” Chanyeol chirps, glancing down at you, “How does a warm bath sound?”

“Like heaven.” You groan. “Baek, feel free to join us after you're done doing your laundry.” You shoot him a mirthful grin as Chanyeol pivots and carries you out of the room that bears the musky, filthy scent of sex.

“Wait you’re just gonna— but I—“ Baekhyun wavers, looking between your retreating figures and his stupid dirty sheets before letting out a groan of frustration and scurrying after you. “Fuck it. I’m coming, I’m coming!”

“Is your bathtub big enough to fit three people?” You question, gaze landing on Baekhyun’s cute ass as he jogs ahead.

Chanyeol shrugs, humming thoughtfully. “We can squeeze.”

You smile, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“We can definitely squeeze.”

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thatharringrovehoe · 3 years ago

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Some more Mob AU stuff cuZ I love it.

- Nancy and Steve never dated, but they have had sex. Once. Nancy wanted her first time to be with someone she trusted and Steve is her BEST FRIEND. She trusts Steve more than anyone. And it's. Not great. Because look. Steve and Nancy have alot in common. To much. They each like to be in control. They're both 100% Tops with a capital T. So when they have sex, even though Nancy is nervous, it ends up being almost a fight. Constantly trying to flip the other over, lots of biting and teeth and frustration because neither of them will submit. Afterwards they put on mud masks and get high and agree that while they love each other there is no way they're ever going to be like that.

- Steve notices the way Jonathan goes all glassy eyed when Nancy walks into the room. How his breath hitches whenever she gets mean. Cuz she is. She's not a bad person, but she's definitely a spoiled brat in a different way than Steve. Because while Steve is starved of love and affection, Nancy has been drowning in it since birth. She's haughty and petulant and will not stop for anything to get what she wants. And Steve is worried at first. Jonathan is a good spymaster and an even better friend so he's reluctant to feed him to the lioness that is Nancy Wheeler.

- He doesn't worry later when he watches Nancy go absolutely gooey with affection the first time Jonathan kisses her in the hallway. How she leads him around like a lost puppy by his camera strap to do what Steve suspects is fucking filthy things to him in the photo development room. Because he knows what Nancy likes. Knows that while Steve kills with kindness Nancy Wheeler is all bite and no bark. Likes to make the pleasure sting. And judging by the way Jonathan practically drools when she rakes her manicured nails down his chest over his shirt while they make out leaning against Jonathan's car after school, he 100% is down to be destroyed by Nancy *the princess* Wheeler.

- Jonathan is still a creep. The only difference here is that he's NEVER crossed Steve. Because when the Harrington kid came up to him in 8th grade and asked if he'd heard any interesting rumors Jonathan thought it was a joke. Just another shot at that weird Byers kid. Had half a mind to tell him to go fuck himself. But right as Tommy curled the beginnings of a mean smirk, Steve shut him down without even looking at him. Just held up his hand. Down boy. And Jonathan thought "You know what? Fuck it." Because if he was lying then he was just like everyone else anyway. But if he was telling the truth. Well. He wasn't above bribery. Told Steve everything he knew. Earned himself a seat in King Steve's court. Used the shadows that always used to swallow him up as a cloak. Held himself with a little more confidence because the monarch of Hawkins may have everyone's secrets. But Jonathan spun the web.

- Billy and Jonathan actually get along really well. They get high and talk about music whenever they're not otherwise occupied getting fucking wrecked by their spoiled rich kid Tops. Billy is low key concerned for Jonathan because damn. Wheeler is fucking savage. Like they'll be passing the joint back and forth and Jonathan will start getting almost to detailed the longer they smoke. Billy did not need to know Nancy Wheeler pegs her boyfriend with a dildo that big okay?

- Carole and Tommy are actually married. Like legally. As soon as Carole turned sixteen Tommy BEGGED Steve to pull some strings. To forge some documents. Cuz Tommy LOVED Carole. She was it. And Tommy could be one nasty piece of work but he would die for this girl no hesitation. And Steve is a sucker for that romantic shit. Set them up with a trip to Italy where a lot of Steve's mother's family lives. Because his grandfather respects a man who's ready to commit to his woman like that. And Steve is his grandmother's favorite. They have a ceremony in a little Church at the heart of the village. Tommy did not fucking cry when he saw Carole in her dress okay? It was just dusty in that old church, shut up.

- Nancy and Carole HATE each other. But in a very wasp-ish kinda way. Will hang out and have 'spa days, just us girls' but would choke each other out given the slightest opportunity. Tommy thinks it's hot. He will never tell Carole this.

- Dustin is obsessed with the fact that Nancy and Steve are kind of mirrored? Just two dominant rich kids that fell in love with emotionally stunted boys that were abused by their fathers? They both have dark brunet hair and big brown eyes? Their boyfriends are blonde? Steve are you listening? Steve!

- Steve gets really bad nightmares. Like wake up mid panic attack bad. And he's usually really good at hiding it from Billy. Is careful not to sleep to deeply around him. But one night after some fucking incredible sex Steve just passes the fuck out cuddling. The next thing he knows he's being shaken awake by a terrified Billy Hargrove. Because Steve had been screamin and shakin and cryin out and Billy was ready to burn down this hick town looking for whoever hurt Steve like this. Was gunna bury them in the Hawkins woods and piss on their grave. And that's when Steve tells him everything about the upside down. Introduces him to El to prove it.

- Speaking of, El doesn't spend a year all alone in a fucking cabin. Because Steve knows everyone's secrets and he likes having people in his pocket. And as much as Hopper dislikes Steve Harrington he can't say no when the king of Hawkins offers Jim perfectly forged paperwork for his 'daughter' El. So El goes to school and spends time learning how to be an actual child while Steve Harrington yanks on the leash of the chief of police whenever he wants.

- Billy is SOFT okay? He's just never been allowed to show it. Had been painted with bruises for just existing so God forbid his father let him show a human emotion. But after a year in Hawkins with Steve he lets his shoulders drop just a little. Will twine his fingers with his boyfriend's during movie night at the Byers. Brings Steve breakfast in bed. The first time he weaves a daisy crown for him Steve almost fucking weeps he's so touched.

- Steve is fucking possessive. Like. Intensely jealous. And at first this was a problem because Billy could not understand why all the girls in Hawkins treated him with kid gloves? They didn't just disregard any playful flirting, they full on didn't acknowledge it. He didn't really get longing stares as he walked through the halls anymore. No more tittering teenage girls blushing over him when he had gym outside. And he's not interested in women but it's nice to be noticed okay? Especially when he puts in so much effort. It starts to make him self conscious. Like, is he just unattractive? Second guesses himself to the point that he stops wearing his shirts unbuttoned and starts to get a little obsessive over working out. It's when Billy starts skipping meals that Steve notices. Sees Billy's lip wobble a little when he asks Steve if he's actually attracted to him or if he's just being nice. And Steve has to explain that he just... Doesn't share well. At all. That when Andrew Brady showed up to school last month with a fat lip and a limp it was because Steve had heard him talking with his buddies behind the general store about how he wanted to bend Billy over his Camaro and make him scream.

- And Billy is just. Shook. Gets all warm and fuzzy because no one hase ever loved him this much. Never wanted Billy this much. Wanted Billy to stay. Can feel tears willing up behind his lashes because the most amazing boy he's ever met is so over the moon for Billy that he's willing to draw blood on his behalf. Kisses Steve so hard they both forget to breath. Feels safe and loved, because he belongs to Steve Harrington. However he still flirts with people on the daily though cuz he's a little shit. And hey if it means his jealous boyfriend rails him so good he forgets his own goddamn name then that's just a bonus.

#I'm falling in love so deep with this AU you guys have no idea #mob au #billy hargrove #harringrove #steve harrington #stranger things #billy hargrove/steve harrington #billy/steve #Tommy H #Carole Perkins #Dustin Henderson #Jonathan Byers #Nancy Wheeler #RIP Jonathan cuz Nancy fucking destroys that boi on the daily and he is INTO IT

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fuckinsteverogers · 4 years ago

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Behemoth

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Rating: 18++++++ Seriously, come on. You know the deal.

Warnings: Dick pic, nudes, size kink, bucky being a jealous beefcake, sam being low key annoying af, steve mentioned, tony mentioned, fluff at the end.

Synopsis: You’re on a dry spell and looking for a good fucking from one of the burely members of your team, and when Bucky notices you haven’t considered him, he takes it in his own hands… Literally, in the form of a dick pic.

Author’s Note: Welp, I’ve got a whole list of fics I should be writing, but this was because I saw a photo that a Tumblr I follow reblogged and well... I couldn’t help myself. It’s kind of shite, but oh well. I hope you guys like it.

EDIT: THIS WAS FLAGGED DURING THE TUMBLR APOCALYPSE AND I AM REUPLOADING IT WITHOUT THE PICTURES THAT GOT IT FLAGGED.

INAPPROPRIATE CONTENT BELOW LINE ;)

You and Bucky have been friends from the moment Steve brought him home, but you’d never considered him as an option, even with T’Challa helping in relieving Bucky of Hydra’s hold on him, knowing his trustworthiness.

Even when you went searching for someone to take away the ache between your thighs, you never looked at Bucky and seriously considered him as someone who could take away every ache, stop your thighs from rubbing to relieve the pressure, stop your fingers from finding your soaking centre and ridding yourself of the uncontrollable arousal.

Bucky noticed your wayward eyes, scrapping across Sam and Steve, even Tony, but never him; not that you noticed him noticing you. The plan was to show you what you’re missing with not considering him, to show you what you’d miss with Sam and Tony, to show you that he can fulfil your primal needs unlike Steve who would only want to ‘treat you right’. Bucky could surely treat you right, but he isn’t going to do that in the way Steve would; cooing over how gorgeous you are, which you fucking are, or holding you tight against him while he fucks you slowly, softly, romantically.

Bucky wants to hold you tight against him, sure, but he wants to fuck you with reckless abandon, give you what you so desperately need... A good, hard fuck.

So, when Bucky noticed Sam’s hand graze to wrap tightly around your upper thigh, sending your body into shivers, he knew he had to work quickly before Sam actually got the balls to do something other than simply touch you and grin about it.

Moving from his seat on the stool, he dismissed himself to his bedroom, keeping the door open until he noticed you walk past towards your bedroom... Alone.

Grinning at Sam’s pussy attempt at flirting, he thinks; what will do the photo justice? What will make her come running to me the moment I send it through?

His eyes flicker up, closing in around the empty bottle of wine that Natasha had left in his room the last time they watched a movie together; clearly not his because it’s a waste of time drinking the shit when it doesn’t do anything to him.

He moves across his room, buzzing with anticipation, the blood from his face travelling down to his crotch, hardening the behemoth to full length. Bucky grins to himself as he shuts his door, pushes his pants to the floor, kicking them off and holds the wine bottle against his erect, throbbing cock.

The contrast is incredible, just how fucking big he is. He wasn’t small before the serum, but now, he was a fucking giant; he thinks that to fit inside your small body he might have to use an entire bottle of lube and loosen you with his tongue first.

Without regret, he takes the photo, snapping it with his free hand, and throws the wine bottle onto a pile of clothing. He attaches the photo into a text message addressed to you, he thinks a moment and then types out the message. His cock throbbing at the thought of being inside you soon, feeling your warm, throbbing wetness, feeling the ridges grind against his steel-like cock.

Your phone buzzes across the room from your position on your bed, your fingers buried inside yourself, moans drawn from your mouth as you try and satiate the desire in your belly.

You’d been ready to fuck Sam the moment he touched you, but he wanted to play hard to get and you weren’t willing to wait, convincing yourself you’ll make yourself cum and then go find your Captain and beg him, even get on your knees if you have to, which surely would make any man’s blood start pumping to his nethers.

The thought makes you giggle as you stand up, your fingers slipping out from inside you as you pull your hand from your pants. You tap the screen of your phone and look at the messages someone has sent you.

Buckinator: Sent a Picture.

He always sends you pictures, of landscapes or of the team, or simply a selfie that he likes, so it wasn’t uncharacteristic.

Another message comes through before you have a chance to look at the picture.

Buckinator: Come get me if you want me.

You scroll up after reading the message and click to download the photo, and what graces your eyes all but makes you faint, your knees get weak and your entire body turns to liquid, because holy fucking shit, he is fucking big.

Will he even fit in you? Will it hurt? Of course, it fucking will, but with how your body vibrates with arousal, you don’t fucking care. He could bruise all the skin on your body and you would not fucking care.

There’s no decision-making process, you had been ready to fuck your superior, but this, you hit yourself for never thinking of Bucky; of course, Bucky. How had you never thought of it? The delicious soldier, the beefcake, the man that could lift you up and down his gigantic cock with ease.

You run to your bathroom, wash your hands and don’t bother to change from your simple cotton panties and a big t-shirt, because you doubt they’re going to remain on your body much longer with how fucking hard he is.

You don’t even knock when you get to his room, you enter and throw yourself at him, earning a pleasantly delicious grunt from his lips.

“Doll,” He says, silky smooth.

“Shut up,” You reply, shoving your mouth against his hand wrapping a secure hand around his length, feeling the rock hardness in your palm. “I can’t wait. I can’t wait. I can’t wait.”

You ramble against his lips, lifting your shirt with your free hand, breaking the kiss to toss it across the room, and shove your panties down and do the same.

“So sexy,” He mumbles as you mount him, sitting on his lap, your thighs on either side of his. His hands roam across your hot skin, feeling, caressing, cherishing the short time he has with you.

You groan at the praise, it sending shockwaves through your body, down to your stomach, achieving in producing more lubrication to help take the wine bottle sized cock you were currently hunched over.

“Lube,” You whimper when the tip of his cock brushes across your clit, swollen and aching to be touched. Bucky passes the bottle he had beside him, clearly knowing you’d come running, and usually, you’d never be so blatant, putting yourself completely in the hands of someone else, but not having a cock inside you almost a year has been driving you fucking crazy.

You squeeze practically half the bottle into your hand and lube him up, wiping the excess on a discarded towel and shift until you feel him scrape against your entrance.

You lift your eyes to look at Bucky’s, losing yourself in the blue, trying to be brave enough to lower yourself.

“Slow, doll. I’ve got you,” He comforts, fitting his flesh arm underneath your ass, supporting your weight which is probably something you won’t be able to do once you feel him enter you.

Nodding, you begin to lower yourself with the help of Bucky’s arm, gripping his shoulders and scrunching your eyebrows up at the stretch.

It doesn’t hurt too bad, just an ache from the large intrusion, but Bucky helps take your mind off of it as his head drops forward, groaning into the valley between your breasts, his hot breath sending shivers down your body as you continue your descent.

“So fucking tight, doll,” Bucky groans, as if you don’t already know, because anyone would be tight around his cock.

You bury a hand in his hair as you feel the tip of his cock hit your cervix; luckily just as you seat yourself onto his lap fully. If this isn’t an indication to you, then you don’t know what is. Though, Bucky vocalises it before you can even start thinking again.

“Made for me, doll. Fuck, sweetheart. I fit perfectly in your tight, little pussy. You were fucking made for me,” He groans deeply from his position between your breasts. His arms wrapping fully around you, the coldness of his metal one incredible against your blazing flesh.

“Help me, Buck,” You reply, squeezing his shoulder. You don’t trust your legs to lift you up and down on him. The ask makes him lift his head, looking into your desperate eyes. He nods shakily, tightening his grip on your small body, lifting you up and down, up and down, until you’re a flurry of tears and screams.

“Holy fucking shit,” You say, throwing your head back as Bucky thrusts up into your bounces, moving in rhythm to send you into a boneless mess.

“Gonna move, doll. Better position,” He says, and the promise is fulfilled the moment he shuffles, still connected to shove you onto your back on the bed, and begins his assault on your body.

Thrusting sharply into you only proves to draw a scream from the back of your throat, your body withering beneath his as he grips your hips in an attempt to keep you still. Your orgasm draws closer the more he thrusts, the harder he smacks into you, the more he groans and spews dirty words.

“I’m so close already, sweetheart. Your pussy is so fucking good,” Bucky is staring down at you with lust blown eyes and you want to feel him cum, you want to cum with him.

You nod, moving to fit your small hand between your connected bodies, and rub against the swollen, abused clit. The pleasure makes you throw your head back and screw your eyes shut, feeling his cock assaulting every inch of your insides and your fingers push against the button that’ll push you over the edge.

“Cum in me, Buck. Please. God, you feel so fucking good,” You ramble, words spewing from your mouth as you get closer and closer to the sweet, sweet release.

“Doll, Jesus. I’m going to cum in you soon. Are you going to cum with me?” Bucky asks. You flicker your eyes open to look at him, a gasp falling from your lips as he wraps his arms underneath your back and lifts you against him in more of a riding position, but you have no control. He’s sitting with his ass against his feet, holding your body securely against him, bouncing you on his cock and thrusting up into your body.

You bury your face in his neck, your fingers still assaulting your clit as the coil in your belly begins to tighten dangerously, and you feel your release move quickly to full-blown euphoria.

“Bucky. Bucky. I’m cumming,” You scream into his skin, your entire body starting to tighten and tense, as the coil snaps and your body begins to clench and unclench around his.

You feel his hands scramble to keep you against him as he slams his hips into yours a final time and bites down onto your shoulder to keep from screaming out his release.

You’re stuck in a world between euphoria and relaxation as your body shakes against him, the aftershocks of your orgasm rattling your body, as you roll your hips down against his cock, drawing it out until the last second, feeling the spurts of his cum release inside of you.

“Fuck,” He says simply. You bury your fingers in his hair as he sits back on his heels and holds you tight against his chest, your legs tangled around his waist.

“Feel free to send more pictures like that,” You say finally, brushing your lips against the skin beneath his ear. He shudders at the words and the action and just secures his arms tighter around your soft body.

“Will it result in this?” He questions, kissing the bite mark he’d left on your shoulder. A warmth fills your stomach at the sweet kiss and you lean back to look at his face.

“Undoubtedly.” And it goes like that, he sends photos at the most inappropriate times, so you sleep with him every day, fucking yourself down on his cock, orgasming and screaming to the high heavens, the team begin to complain about the screaming so Tony gives you and Bucky your own floor.

One day after fucking each other into a state of almost comatose, he asks you if you’d like to see a new movie out. You are shocked, not thinking that was an option. You hit yourself again for not thinking of Bucky as a companion rather than just a fuckable supersoldier.

Two years after your first date, he asks you to marry him. You stare down at the velvet box with his mother’s ring in it, and furrow your brows, never thinking that this was something you wanted, but it’s Bucky and he is everything you’ve ever needed, not only because he satiates your needs, but because he is your need.

You say yes and it’s a flurry of tears and screams from the team. You marry your best friend in the most beautiful white dress and wake up the morning of the first day of your honeymoon in a pair of cotton panties and a big t-shirt, which he rips off of you and fucks you until you scream.

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Feedback is super super appreciated.

#avengers fic #avengers #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #avengers smut #filthy smut #bucky barnes smut #winter soldier smut #marvel #fluff #mcu #steve rogers

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itsthe-grim-reaper · 4 years ago

Text

Kurooshima Drabble

Hey! It’s Grim, back again with another one! NSFW

GORE TW

Summary: Tsukishima is a contract sniper. Kuroo has a blood kink and is a mob boss. He likes Tsukishima. A lot. !!!!Warnings!!!!

CanonxCanon (Kuroo Tetsuro x Tsukishima Kei)

Blood Kink

Pain play

Gore

Gunplay

Mutual masturbation

Sadistic/Masochist!Kuroo

Mafia Au

*All characters depicted are time-skip age. This concept is based off a roleplay event, purely a work of fiction.

“I’m your boss.” “So?”

“What do you mean, ‘so’?”

Now Kuroo was just getting irritated. His sniper of a years time was being one hell of a brat. Usually it was: “What’s next boss?” “Where to boss?” “Who am I tracking boss?” Not whatever the hell this was. Not this shit that was spouting out of that fucking skinny blonde’s mouth. “I’m under contract.” Tsukishima replies, a smirk on the edge of his lips that makes the mafia boss grind his teeth together. “I could drop it all right now. I could leave.” Kuroo’s voice comes out a low rumble. “You won’t.” He couldn’t let him leave. A gun is brandished. “Make me stay then.”

In a blink of an eye, it’s a tousling match between the two. An unbalanced fight, because in strength, it’s 10:0. Or, 10:1. Tsukishima was always too busy reading, sleeping, or lazing around the complex to work out. The most strength he had was in his legs because of roof jumping. Hence the 1 point given.

“Ack-” Tsukishima is forced onto his back by the weight of someone more than 50 pounds heavier, Kuroo overpowering him soon enough. His eyes are laced with arsenic and so is his tongue. “You! You bastard! Let me go!” “I don’t think so hun. I like you. No way I’m letting you leave that easy.” One thing about Kuroo Tetsuro that many people that were close to him knew was his taste for blood. Not in a vampiric way, but in the desire to inflict pain and draw crimson to the surface. For him, a set of simple cuts on his back were orgasmic, calming even. It emptied his head of violent thoughts, and it made him feel good. Simple. He didn’t mind doing it to others either. He liked to share, especially something like this. Countless times he recounts using his knife to make ruby slices in Bokuto’s back while they fucked for fun. It wasn’t uncommon for Kuroo to bite, and it wasn’t about to be rare now. He takes his gun from his side holster and points it a little ways away from Tsukishima’s thigh. On the smaller side, his pistol of choice this evening was a 9mm handgun. Fear shines in the man’s eyes from below, and he feels even more urged to pull the trigger. Once at the right angle he deems perfect, he shoots.

BANG!

Tsukishima cries out in pain, a glorious song to Kuroo’s ears. Never heard a crow sing before until now! “Kuroo! Fuck! What the fuck!” He hisses and tries to put a hand on the wound to keep the blood from coming out, but the mafia boss prevents him from doing so with his own hand. The gun is set aside after the safety is on carefully onto the side table as the man under him speaks in a panicked yell. Usually, Kuroo enjoyed more the sensation that he was the one being shot. That he was the one in pain. Right now though, he wanted this. Him and Tsukishima. This was a lesson of gratitude impart with punishment for a brat. And he loved every sound, every squelch, every smell and every movement of their bodies.

Kuroo puts his hand on the meat of Tsukishima’s thigh and leans forward so they’re touching foreheads. The stench of sweet blood hits his nose, and the shallow breaths from the sniper make him press harder on the wound. Kei was starting to sweat, poor thing.

Another pain-filled cry is produced rather quickly, and Tetsuro smiles at the sound. Seeing him so bloody, feeling the pulse of his heart, it made him hard. He starts to slowly slip his belt off, the jingling all to familiar. Usually, Tsukishima would taunt him playfully, but right now, he felt his head spin. Tsukishima heaves breaths as he watches the other man begin to look swallowed in his own thoughts. His vision starts to become blurry as he blinks away tears of pain. It clouded his head, the overwhelming sting in his left thigh as Kuroo presses his thumb on the wound. “You’re doing so good, Tsukki.” The smoothness of his boss’s voice enters his ears in a sickeningly sweet drawl. “So good..” A whimpering moan of pain is coaxed from the other man’s throat when Kuroo lets his grip off of his thigh. His hand is coated in crimson, so much so it looks like paint when is smeared across his cock. “Ah..fuck..Tsukishima..” Hearing his name be moaned makes him look up at the face of his boss. Ecstasy covers his usually lively features, his mouth slightly open. All the blonde could manage was a soft complaint noise, not just of the injury itself and the fact that Kuroo was getting off with his blood acting as lube.

“You..you feel left out, baby?” He answers with a slight nod. He felt dizzy. “Here,” Kuroo sits on his lap, the pressure nearly bruising as he dirties the sniper’s pants in a layer of coagulating blood to pull them down to his knees.

”I’ll help you.” His voice is rather calm as he gently takes Tsukishima’s length in his hand.

The sensation is startlingly good. Distracting. Kuroo’s hand moving up and down, the now far away throbbing in his leg, and the sound of his boss’s groans. His blood. They were using his blood. His own blood. That smell, that overwhelming metallic smell was his. “T-tetsuro..” The first name being used immediately brings the other man’s attention to him as his hand moves slowly across both of their cocks. “I’m..hhh..I’m going..to..” It was something, nothing else he had felt before. He feels it start to knot inside his abdomen, but then he starts to see spots in his vision. He was close in more ways than one.

One, bleeding out. “I..I can’t..”

And two, cumming all over his boss’s hand. “Hold on..gahh..just a little longer, Kei..” The speed of Kuroo’s hand intensifies on both of their sides of the equation. “Just..fuck..come on, Tsuki. Cum.” He hated those stupid orders, but his body didn’t. Tsukishima’s hips jerk into Kuroo’s at the direction, mind clouding. His vision explodes into stars and he gasps aloud as he came across his chest, bucking for a minute before sinking into the sheets. “That’s..that’s it..fuck..Tsuki..Tsukishima-” Kei’s glasses are covered as the other man finishes shortly after. The blonde’s vision begins to go dark, eyes fluttering closed and his eyes rolling back into his head. The blood is wiped up around him, sheets changed, a distant rumbling voice calling, but he can’t move. Gently, he’s cradled by familiar hands, hot breath on his neck and pressure on his thigh. He was alive, he knew it, but passed out. Inky blackness surrounds him.

His last thought putters out, snuffed. A candle on The Big Cat of Tokyo’s, Kuroo Tetsuro’s, his boss’s, work desk. He was pretty sure that thing was stuck there now, the white wax was long burnt down to the mahogany. A danger, most likely. Not unlike Tsukishima Kei. Though he was pretty sure he wasn’t just a sniper anymore, he was his sniper. And as far as he knew, it didn’t seem too bad.

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jamie-leah · 5 years ago

Text

War of Wolves

Season 1

Episode 2- You’ve Got A Deal

Bucky x Reader

Summary: You have been on the streets for the past two years, ever since your accident that left you with the ability to tell if someone is lying. You work as an informant for the white wolf and his mob but you had never met him…until you overhear a phone call that leads you to saving his life. Now he wants you to work for him. Its an offer you couldn’t refuse…right?

Word Count: 2,562

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of death? I think that’s it

A/N: So I decided to carry on posting this series. Its one of favourites. Feedback, comments, and likes are very welcome! Taglist is OPEN for this series!

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It was a three-hour car ride in silence. You were tense the entire time. You noticed Steve kept glancing at you in the rear-view mirror and you kept looking at Blake in the passenger seat when you knew he wasn’t looking.

When you finally felt Steve slow the car down, you looked out the windows. Coming up into view was a mansion. It had acres of grass filled land, a path for cars in the middle. As the car rolled over the gravel, the mansion got bigger and bigger as you got closer. It was made of brilliant, white stone. There were balconies, fountains, statues, windows of all shapes and sizes. There just seemed to be too many things for your brain to focus on.

Steve pulled up right outside the three stone steps to the main doors. He got out, followed by Blake and you watched Steve toss the keys at another man. You scramble out of the car and trail behind Steve and Blake.

When you walked through, you think your brain stopped working altogether. The first thing you noticed were the elegantly large stairs that lead to the second floor. It was made of marble white which is the reason you noticed the second thing: the floors. They were black. Impossibly black, and shiny and smooth.

The entire house was pristine, and you were suddenly conscious that you were a piece of trash. You didn’t have much time to admire the place as you followed the men through the house. You couldn’t remember the route you took, but it wasn’t long before you came to a closed set of doors.

Steve knocked and then poked his head through them. You could hear mumbling until he walked in, Blake following and you trailing slowly behind.

You had heard stories of the man in front of you. To you, he was almost like a legend. Enemies said his name with fear and friends said his name with reverence. When you looked at him, you understood why. He was sitting at a desk in black trousers and a black shirt, the first two buttons undone. The shirt was struggling to contain his muscles as you see them ripple under the fabric. His hair was shoulder length that seemed to catch on his stubble sometimes. But his eyes. It was his blue eyes that sent shivers down your spine.

It was those eyes that were staring at you now. They made you want to flee but stuck you to the spot at the same time. He stared at you the entire time Steve spoke in hush tones close to Bucky’s ear. It was only when he broke eye contact that you noticed the woman behind Bucky’s chair, her hand trying to inch down his open shirt.

Bucky’s gruff voice rang in the room, “everyone leave, except her”. Steve complied and so did Blake, but the woman whined. You could see the annoyance in Bucky’s face as his nostrils flare, “leave”, it was more of a growl that time. You watch her slowly take her hand off him, and slowly walk away, but not before she throws you a glare.

When the door clicks shut, it sounds like a jail cell closing to your ears. Your heart is beating so fast that you’re afraid it’ll give out at any moment. Bucky studies you in the quiet for a few moments. When he speaks directly to you, your heart skips a beat, “what’s your name?”.

You’re surprised when your voice doesn’t shake, even if it’s a little timid, “Y/N”.

He clasps his hands together on the desk. The gesture draws your eyes to his metal hand…so the rumours were true. He leans forward on his desk, “well Y/N, bold of you to insist on my attention just for some information…it better be worth it”.

When silence falls, he gestures for you to speak, “someone is going to kill you tomorrow. I also think they’re going to kill Steve and Sam, but I can’t be too sure”. You see his posture go rigid at what he must perceive to be a threat. You speak quickly, “I overheard a conversation. One of your men speaking to someone saying things like you would regret doing what you did to them. They told the person on the phone that you have a meeting with a new buyer tomorrow and that Steve and Sam will be going too. He told them that you have seven lower level men going with you and that when you’re taken out they can take over”. You take a deep breath after spilling all of that information.

You find it hard to read Bucky as he’s stayed still the entire time. He gets up from his desk and makes his way over to you. You take a step back, but he shakes his head and you stop. He comes so close that he looks down at you, his voice low, “I find it hard to believe that you got all that information from one phone call”. His hand shoots out and grabs your chin, hard, but not hard enough to bruise.

You feel his breath warm your face, “are you threatening me?”.

You shake your head as much as you can in his grasp, not daring to speak. He studies you, “how do you know this man wasn’t joking? A lot of my men joke about taking me down, it’s not uncommon”.

You swore to yourself that you wouldn’t tell anyone about what you can do. But you were scared of what would happen if you didn’t. Bucky wouldn’t believe you and not only kill you but get himself killed in the process.

He lets go of your chin and walks away, “so you don’t know for sure. This was a waste of my time-“.

“I’m gifted, so yes, I can be sure”, it bursts out of you. Your heart making the decision before your brain can even think about it.

He turns back to you, anger evident on his face, “now I know you’re lying-“.

You rush to cut him off, “I’m not. I swear. I was in a car accident around two and a half years ago. I had a brain injury among other things and when I woke up I had this ability to be able to tell when someone was lying. There are limitations to it, but I’ve never been wrong. Tell me something, go on”.

You see him cock his head ever so slightly, curious now, “tell you what exactly?”.

You hold his stare, “tell me something only you would know the answer to. You can tell me the truth about it or the lie and I’ll tell you”.

You think you see a ghost of a smile on his full lips. He thinks this is a game, but that’s fine. If he plays, he’ll see you’re not joking. Turns to face you full now, “my favourite ice cream flavour is mint chocolate”.

You don’t hesitate, “that’s a lie”.

You still see his slight smile, “I’m wearing boxers under my pants”.

You could feel the blush rising to your cheeks as you fight to keep your eyes on his, “that’s a lie”.

The smile on his face grows, “my mother’s name is Sarah”.

“Another lie”, you keep your expression serious.

His smile falters for a split second, “that’s because my mother’s name was Alison”.

You shake your head, “no, it wasn’t”.

His smile fades now as he takes a step closer to you again, “you’re right. Her name was Winifred”.

You give him a tiny smile, “yes it was. That’s a very lovely name”.

His expression is unreadable. He’s staring at you so intently that you fear he’ll burn a whole through you. He nods his head once, “okay, you’ve convinced me enough to keep you here until I see if you’re right about tomorrow. If it is an ambush, I’ll be ready…do you remember who you saw on the phone?”.

“Blake. He was on the phone this morning when he came to get information from me”. You watch him mull it over.

His blue eyes meet yours, “okay. Well, keep it to yourself. Don’t tell anyone what we discussed today. Steve will take you to a spare room. You can wait there until tomorrow”.

The room Steve showed you to was huge. It had a bed that seemed bigger than any you had seen before. There was a bathroom attached and a window that could look out the front of the house.

As soon as Steve left you had a shower. Despite the situation, you always took advantage of a shower. You dressed back into your tattered jeans but took a plain black t-shirt from the closet. It was big on you, so you tucked it into your jeans.

Time seemed to be going slowly. But it wasn’t long after your shower when you heard a knock on your door. When you went to open it, you saw a woman standing there with a cart full of food. She rolled it into the room and then left.

There was so much food you didn’t know where to start first, but you ate like a savage. You were happy to know that no one could see, but you hadn’t eaten in a little while. You ate so much that your stomach hurt. You laid on the softest bed in your life and fell unconscious before your head hit the pillow.

You get woken up the next day by car doors slamming outside. It takes you a couple seconds to realise where you are and what’s happening. You scramble from the bed to the window in time to see Bucky walk to the second car. He’s dressed in combat trousers and a black t-shirt that also struggles to contain his muscles and his metal arm glinting in the sun.

You see the four cars leave the estate and your nerves come back, twisting horribly in your stomach. Too many things could happen. The best-case scenario is that you’re right and Bucky doesn’t die. Worst case scenario is that Bucky does die and so does Steve and Sam.

Your brain was working over time the entire day. You barely ate anything and couldn’t focus on much. You spent most of the day pacing the room.

The sun was starting to set when you heard tires on gravel. You rush over to the window and watch. Just because the cars came back didn’t mean Bucky was alive. Your heart had stopped beating in the moments of the car stopping and the car door opening. But when you saw him step from the car your body seemed to sigh.

But your ever-racing mind couldn’t seem to stop. You were wondering if he believed you or not. You still don’t know what happened at this meeting and if it looked like you had lied then it wasn’t going to be a pretty ending for you.

From the moment you saw Bucky walk into the house you stared at the clock. It was an hour before you heard a knock on your door. You were surprised when he didn’t just walk in and you had to say, “come in”.

You were sitting on the end of the bed when he opened the door. He stepped in and closed the door, so you had time to study him. He was wearing the same thing as this morning, and he seemed unharmed. You weren’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

He sits next to you and you stare at his thigh inches from yours. The tension in the room made you feel sick, as you played with your hands.

Bucky’s rough voice seems quiet in the dying light of the room, “you were right”.

You squeeze your hands in relief but react in no other way. You wait for him to speak again, “there were no casualties on my side, but there would have been if I hadn’t have known. It’s very possible that I would be dead now”.

You both seem lost in what that would have meant. His voice is just above a whisper when he speaks next, “thank you. For telling me. But I must admit that I’m having some trouble with all this and surprisingly its not your gift…why? Why did you insist on coming here to save a man you’ve never even met?”.

That’s when he looks at you, his blue eyes somehow brighter in the darkening room. You take a few moments to think about the reason. Because he is right. It doesn’t seem to make sense that you would do this.

You take a deep breath, his eyes taking you in, “The money you give for homeless informants is the only reason I’ve been able to eat over the last two years. If I wasn’t getting it, I would have died a long time ago so perhaps I felt like I owed you or perhaps if you died I wouldn’t get that money anymore. I would like to tell you that’s the reason, because it makes more sense, but…I’ve heard the stories about you Mr Barnes. The White Wolf. I know which ones have been true and which ones haven’t been and from what I can gather, despite your profession and the things you’ve done in that profession, you seem a decent man that sticks to his principles. A man that puts family and loyalty above everything else. There’s not many men like you out there and to know a man like that would be snuffed out when I could have stopped it? I guess I feel a weird loyalty to you because of the last two years”.

You see him think over your words. The minutes stretch out until he clears his throat, “for what you did today, I have a debt to pay and a job to offer”.

Your eyebrows raise at his words. He half smiles at your reaction before explaining, “your gift would be of great use to me and I would love to use it in my line of work and in exchange you would live here. I would provide whatever you wanted, within reason. You would have regular meals and a much better life than the streets. You are free to refuse of course”.

You nod as you think over his words, “it’s a great offer and it does sound nicer than the streets, but wouldn’t it be dangerous?”.

He studies your face as he speaks, “well if you accept my offer I would discuss the logistics of keeping you safe in the morning. Of course, being in my mob at a higher level is more dangerous, but it also comes with more protection, including my own”.

You think over his words in silence. He waits patiently. Of course, it’s a great offer. To live like this every day is something you never even dared to dream about on the streets. But the danger, was it worth it?

You look him in the eye, your voice steady, “okay. You got yourself a deal White Wolf”.

You see him half smile. He lingers longer than necessary, but he eventually makes his way to the door. Before he leaves he turns and adds, “Bucky is fine”. The door clicks softly behind him.

War of Wolves Taglist: @a-really-bi-girl @scuzmunkie @viperslunatic @loving-life-my-way @crazyblonde124 @summerwelsh (this taglist is partly what was said a while ago, if you don’t want to be on it just shoot me a message!).

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goddamnitdazai · 5 years ago

Note

first time with tachihara scenario? bonus points if s/o is a virgin and has no idea what to do

This took me so long I’m so sorry ;;;; n.sfw | smut _________Downpour paints Yokohama silver. Rushing, heavy drops of rain continue to pelt the city as the night drags towards morning. Bars close down, the sound of final call ringing through the streets until the crowds dissipate quickly looking for shelter from the cold raindrops. Tachihara watches from his window one leg thrown up on the sill elbow wrapped over it. His other foot taps off beat on the wooden floor. He always found a subtle calming aura in the rain and the silky mist it left on the city’s floor. Hordes of black umbrellas disperse over the sidewalks like little floating orbs stuck in a misty grasp. Eventually the street below clears and his only entertainment falls to the neon signs going out one by one.

His apartment should be considered small by the standard of which he’s paid, but it doesn’t bother him. His money is sunk in shit that shouldn’t matter but it does to him. A decent baseball bat; two of them. A guitar that cost too much for the brand. A bed far too big for just him and he was rarely home to use it anyway. It’s why he purchased a studio apartment to begin with. He didn’t plan on staying long and with the way things turned out….he somewhat regrets not buying a bigger place now that his permanence in the mafia was sealed. The one thing that makes the apartment worth staying in (other than his lack of enthusiasm to move again) was the location. The view of the city from his window took his breath away. Dark evenings like this, early in the morning when he was just coming home in the stench of blood and gunpowder. Nothing beat the view. Tachihara finishes his cigarette slowly holding on to the nicotine longer than usual. He liked the dizziness that sometimes fell over him when he hadn’t slept enough or eaten yet. It helped him sleep. In the time that passes he wonders if you’re back yet. You always complained about going on missions outside of Japan. Missing home; he’d tease you for it. Tell you to quit whining. You said once a few months ago you liked the sound of his voice--muttered it into your crossed arms at the bar, actually. But it stuck with him. Now, after everything, he could finally admit to himself that his true personality had flourished in the mafia. With the Black Lizard. The barrier could be lifted, but where would it lead? He wasn’t entirely sure and he’d never let himself think in that direction. But now.. His head snaps to the door when he hears an inconsistent knock. Habitually, he picks up one of the guns strewn on his nightstand and walks to his door. Sweatpants hanging low at his hips. Nobody outside the mafia knew where he lived, and the others wouldn’t bother coming to his door now. They knew it would be bad for both parties. Tachihara exhales loudly and drops the gun from your head, opening the door a bit wider to lean on. “Shit ____, you could have warned me it was you. I almost blew your head off.” He huffs resting the gun on his thigh. It takes a few seconds for your appearance to hit him properly. Pale, more tired than usual, you looked like you’d been through shit. “Hey...what is it?” There is no hesitancy when you lean your full weight into his body arms scrunched up on your chest. Tachihara walks two steps back and shuts the door, tossing his gun on the small table with his keys so he can wrap his arms around you. “______, are you okay?” “I almost royally fucked up..” you mumble into his chest. You’d been thinking about him since it happened. Out of all the people you’d grown close to in the mafia Tachihara was the single individual that kept running circles in your head. He left a permanent mark on you from the moment you two met. The way he spoke, his deep voice and commanding authority, the way he didn’t take shit from anyone. There was an endearing and conflicting attractiveness to his street attitude. One that normally didn’t work well in the middle ranks of the mafia. Especially with his habit of talking back to Hirotsu. “I’m such a fucking idiot.” Tachihara sets his chin on the top of your head wondering where this affection came from. If he remembered correctly you hated him when you two first met. Called him an opinionated asshole. It wasn’t wrong but fuck it made him wanna throw you to another section of the mafia all together. You pissed him off. Always rolling your eyes when he told you the plan was changing and reminded you that you were an add on to the Black Lizard when needed. Your skill was useful but combat wise he was far superior. Secretly, or not so secretly to Hirotsu, he liked throwing that in your face because of the scrunched look you got. It was cute. Like two children fighting on the playground as Hirotsu called it, his version of flirting, he supposed he could admit that’s what it was now. “Well you didn’t so you’re fine right?” His voice vibrates against your chest. You shiver, but not from the cold rain that had drenched you on the walk over. You already felt his shirt soaking but he didn’t seem to mind. Yet. Tachihara keeps his arms around you as he walks further backwards, getting you more into the apartment to feel the heat and step away from the door where the draft came in. “You’re soaked.” “No shit.” Tachihara frowns and pulls back a bit to look at your face. Realizing how close he was has your heart leaping into your throat. He looked tired, but the frown on his face was making the outline of his lips much more obvious. A pout without meaning to appear. Shit. You shiver a second time and tug at the collar of his shirt. “You’re soaked now too. I didn’t meant to interrupt..your..whatever the fuck you’re doing I just...felt like a fucking moron.” You exhale through your nose shoulders slumping a bit. Tachihara snickers, lips curling into a smirk that has your heart jumping up to your throat. Moments of silence inch by. The echo of raindrops surrounding the tiny apartment. Tachihara keeps your gaze as his head tilts. You watch in slow motion. The subtle movement draws him closer. Your heart begins to pound in your ears. His hand secures itself at the base of your neck fingers spreading to thread in your hair. They were softer than you’d imagined. with how often he handled a gun you expected something much more rough. Your eyes flutter shut. He’s gentle, at first, but the rivalry persists even in this moment. You kiss back, sinking your teeth into his bottom lip. Fuck, Tachihara thinks, feeling the goosebumps that trail the sensation of your teeth in his flesh. It’s a pleasure that drives him to pivot and push you against the wall, slotting his knee between your legs pinning you against it and his body. Despite the soaking wet clothes you felt warm. Smelled like rain and gunpowder with a hint of vanilla. Tachihara groans hands roaming under your shirt exploring the soft skin over your ribs as his tongue rolls against the roof of your mouth. He smirks when the vibration from your moan tickles his lips causing him to pull back just enough to let you breathe. Addicting. That’s what this was going to become. He could feel it in the way you launch at him pulling him back into a rough kiss that has his knees turning to puddy. Almost taboo given he was technically a higher rank than you and both of you butted heads during working hours. Strict but merciless. Like this, though, you were anything but rigid. There is a fervent, feral desire that drips from your skin bleeding into his making it impossible for you two to separate from each other. You tasted like whiskey and burned like a shot down his throat that warms his entire body from head to toe. You grip his shoulders forcing the white t-shirt to stretch around his collar before you rip it in half at the back. The laugh that echoes from his throat makes your skin tingle. Moan soft as it leaves your lips and his mouth travels down the hollow of your throat. Red marks. Love bites. Dark bruises. Your chest arcs head tilting back to give him more access, more of the biting you craved. Tachihara teases the spots that make you tense and jolt. Little nips that blossom to hard bites. Your nails leave crescents in the round curve of his shoulders down to the blades. Toned muscle tightens under your touch. The drenched shirt on your torso ends up in tatters along with his and the brick is cold against your back. “Fuck.” Tachihara groans as his hands make their way up to your chest grabbing the supple flesh and rolling his thumbs over your hardening nipples. Electricity zips up your body. Impatience grows. You push off the wall and walk Tachihara backwards towards the bed nearly getting him to fall but he twists at the last minute letting your back bounce off the mattress before he ends up on top of you. His hands are back at your breasts squeezing the flesh, pinching your nipples into hardness as his mouth descends. Your fingers wind up in the sheets twisting crimson fabric up into bunches that rise off the bed. His sweatpants end up tossed somewhere in the corner, hands gripping your hips with rough ownership, mouth finally reaching you nipple to suck and bite just hard enough to have you moaning as loud as the rainfall. Your legs lock around his ribs tight enough to feel the heat from his body seep through your wet pants. Drops of water soak the sheets beneath your hair, thunder rattles around the small apartment but the only vibration you feel is Tachihara’s teeth moving on your skin. He switches to the other nipple giving it the same attention as one hand slinks down to flick the button of your pants open. When he raises from your saliva soaked nipple to give a smirk you shoot up and shift your weight on to his torso using the muscle in your legs to flip him beneath you with ease. You return his smirk. Tachihara feels his cock twitch. Seeing you on top of him, hair wet and falling along your shoulders dripping cold water onto his bare chest has him never wanting to leave this position. His hands remain on your hips, thumbs digging into the bone holding you still as he ruts up rubbing his hard cock between your legs. A groan of pleasure escapes your mouth, breath hot and heavy despite your attempts to cover the growing arousal in your body. Bending your torso brings you close enough to taste his skin. Smooth, soft. Red blossoms under your teeth and his neck becomes adorned with ruby marks framing crescent edges. Tachihara’s back arcs off the mattress pressing his chest towards yours. His moan sends goosebumps racing down your spine. “Shit..” Tachihara moans again, voice deep and smoky. His quick fingers pull at the soaked material clinging to your legs but his impatience gets the best of him--a pile on the floor somewhere in tatters. You laugh at his haste and he returns a smirk that shoots your heart into your throat. A flick of his wrist and your panties meet the same fate. Tachihara kisses you roughly but lazily. Biting at your bottom lip just to dip his tongue back in your mouth during the surprised gasp, the moans that follow his playful kisses. His hands drag circles up your back starting from the center of your spine to the expanse of your shoulders. Had there been paint on his fingertips there’d be angel wings left on your skin. Thunder claps loudly, brilliant white light flashing right behind it brightening the navy sky for a split second. You break for air and to watch the sharp outline of his face snap with halcyon. He’s breathless, a tint of pink on the high points of his cheekbones. Enchanting--fuck he made your knees weak. A simple movement has your chest flush with his kissing him hard fingers tugging at the thin red strands framing his face. Tachihara groans against your mouth arching into your touch, using one hand slapping around one of the nightstands barely reaching into the drawer with the tips of his fingers. “Already?” You ask, holding his bottom lip between your teeth. Tachihara chuckles and sets the condom on the pillow flipping you onto your back planting both hands on either side of your head. “I’m not that fuckin’ selfish.” Tachihara grins, sliding his hand between your leg, thumb pressing down on your clit rubbing it in soft circles. Electricity snaps up your spine as he drops smooth kisses down the side of your throat. Laying on your back like this, though, wasn’t enough. Your knee lands on his hip keeping you open for him but letting you have some control as your bodies flip to the side. Hands in his hair he follows your tug with a devious smirk before your teeth meet his lips. Sweat and beads of rainwater mix along your skin, heavy downpour becoming forgotten under the sound of your moans and his. His thumb continues to circle your wet clit middle and index finger sliding inside you to scissor and stretch your walls. Tachihara’s rhythm picks up in speed once he’s found that spot deep inside that makes you see stars. The pads of his fingers rarely leave the bundle of nerves until you’re cumming on his hand with a wanton moan of ecstasy. Tachihara smirks against your throat nipping at the skin wanting to feel the vibration of your moans against his lips as you cum. He works you through your orgasm with slow thrusts of his fingers ensuring you’re wet enough--enjoying the results of his work dripping down your thighs. You exhale feeling your fingers tighten around his hair unable to stop the twitching of your hips. The consistent friction of his fingers inside you during the fallout was making your head spin. “Fuck--tease.” You grit through your teeth. Tachihara laughs and flicks your clit with his thumb murmuring against your neck that you seemed to like what he was doing. Fucker. Before you can flip him Tachihara already has you on top of him one hand holding the condom wrapper so he can rip it open with his teeth. Your brow arcs in question, to which Tachihara merely shrugs. “I like the view.” He states with a bit of his smirk returning. You adjust and rise up so he can roll the condom down his hardened cock watching the vein pulsate, fingers digging into his chest in anticipation. “Seems you do too huh?” Tachihara licks your arousal off his fingers, eyes flicking down between your legs then back up to your face. “Shut up.” You huff, hovering over his cock and dropping down slowly. Eyes rolling back when his cock slowly stretches you out, the burn always felt so fucking good, and Tachihara was no exception. “Ff--fuck.” You raise up and down on your knees before completely letting him bottom out inside you. Tachihara’s hips rise off the bed to meet your drop, his own moan hitting the air, hands cementing themselves on your hips as he begins to thrust up hard. You gasp and cinch his chest with your nails not expecting him to retake control so quickly. The pace has you breathless and unable to do anything but try and meet his rhythm. The mattress creaks beneath your knees sound succumbing to the moans echoing in the small apartment. Tachihara’s right hand follows the new curve of your back to bring your body closer to his, the other keeping it’s place on your hip. He flattens his feet on the bed changing the angle to pound into you deeper, harder. Crimson lays in stripes over his shoulders, in petal shapes on his neck. Marks of lust, of control, that won’t be easy to hide at work tomorrow. Tachihara can’t keep his lips off you, treats your skin like an addiction he can’t fight. Between the sound of skin slapping skin and the bed pounding into the wall the thunderstorm outside is all but muted. You moan into his neck pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts toes curling when the swollen head hits your g spot with expertise. Your hair twists in his fingers, his hand keeps you low enough that he can suck on your lips, bite down on your neck, whisper dirty words in your ears. “Fuck, fuck ______.” He pants, pleasure clear in his voice and the way he can’t catch his breath. “You’re--fuck, so good.” You pull off a smirk that Tachihara catches, his teeth dig into your bottom lip roughly and in a split-second move he has you flipped completely on your back again. “Oh?” He pants cinching his hands around your thighs pushing your legs down and apart. “I know that fuckin’ look. You’re good, but I am too. Look at your pussy.” He slips his cock out fully letting the tip rest at your entrance before slamming back inside you watching your face twist from shock to pleasure. “Soaked.” Tachihara throws one of your legs over his shoulder wanting to keep the distance minimal and the angle deep. He stares enamored with you for a moment under another enormous clap of thunder and lightning, admiring the way you looked completely breathless. Covered in sweat and rain. In his bed. The kiss to your ankle catches you off guard, sweet, before he begins a rough pace that has your hands twisting the sheets near your head. Your back bows off the mattress moans growing in volume and pitch as your high draws near. Tachihara holds your knee over his shoulder keeping the other leg spread open near your ribs letting him hit as deep as possible. He tilts his hips to stroke his pelvis against your clit and the sensation has your voice cracking between curses and praises. You clench when his balls taps your ass making him choke and stutter between your legs. “Fuck _____.” He hisses rolling his hips into you. You smile up at him and clench again watching him shiver and bite at your ankle. “Like that?” You purr, pulling him forward with the leg now wrapped around his neck. Tachihara lets himself fall forward, catching his weight on both hands, bending your leg back down with him. That smirk, again, shoots your heart to your throat. Tachihara presses into you deeper, rubbing against your g-spot with quick snaps of his hips. Your hands return to the back of his shoulders gripping them hard as he starts to pound you into the mattress. His forehead rests atop yours sweat clinging to his brow and rolling down his toned arms from the back of his neck. His abdomen rubs your clit in rough jolts sending shocks of pleasure through your body. You moan against his lips kissing him sloppily feeling the knot in your stomach tighten with each hard thrust. Tachihara keeps his pace rough and fast snapping the chord in your stomach with a few more thrusts. Your entire body tightens lower back arching high off the bed head thrown back in pure ecstasy. Tachihara dips down biting and licking the middle of your throat, fucking you through your orgasm hard and chasing his own high. Your body shivers thighs shaking around him, the tingling from your orgasm drawn out from his cock pounding into your g-spot. “Fuck!” Tachihara moans loudly pounding hard into you twice before he cums. Face falling into the crook of your neck more moaning and curses falling from his lips, breath short and heavy as his hips stutter in the fallout before he completely collapses on top of you, flipping to his side shortly after and letting your leg fall around his waist. The apartment is quiet, rain tapping in gentle drops on the glass fogging the city lights into splotches of gold and white. He gently kisses your cheek then down to your lips, eyes fluttering shut arm draped loosely over your waist. “Fuck….” he murmurs. “Yeah..fuck..” you repeat, curling up a bit against his chest. What was supposed to happen now? Despite the comfort of his arms the thought still steamrolls its way into your head. Tachihara pops one eye open watching you under the gentle shadows of the night. Even you knew that he could read you despite the control you had on your features. He always said it was in your eyes and the micromovements of your lips, the twitches, the subtle frown. “Don’t worry about it right now.” He knew what you were thinking, at least the line of it. He wondered too for a brief moment but it was easier for him to let shit like that go in the moment. You had a habit of clinging to stupid shit. “Stay if you want.” He says with a yawn reaching down to pull the condom off and tie it in a knot before tossing it into a trash can across the room. “Practice?” You quip. He sighs and flicks your shoulder but pulls you in tighter to his chest. “Shut up.” He grumbles back tugging the covers up over you without bothering to open his eyes. You watch him for a bit--he could fall asleep anywhere. Standing up against a wall waiting for an order, curled up in a box before an ambush, literally anywhere. And quickly. He looked peaceful when asleep, not bothered by Gin’s odd actions or irritated by Hirotsu’s slow build up of attack. Timidly your finger traces the line of his jaw then up to his cheekbone and to his lips. Gentle. Soft, softer than you’d imagined. Supple. Talented. The rain’s sound lulls you to sleep wrapped in Tachihara’s arms, tapering off leaving only the sounds of soft breathing by the time the morning light begins to set a warm glow along the city’s surface.

#my writing #tachihara #tachihara michiouzo #bsd #bungou stray dogs #my writing tachihara #scenario:tachihara/smut #tachihara smut #Anonymous

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livesincerely · 4 years ago

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you only have to ask (i’d give you absolutely anything)

Also on Ao3. Rated E

00000

“Hey there, beautiful.” Davey turns towards the source of the voice: a stocky blond in a pair of cargo shorts. He waves his hand at a small stretch of unclaimed space at Davey’s right. “Mind if I grab the spot next to you?”

“Um, no, go ahead.” Davey moves over slightly to make room but the stranger steps confidently into Davey’s space with a cocky, flirtatious grin.

“You’re new here, right?” the guy says, giving Davey an obvious once over. “I mean, I haven’t seen you around before and I’d’ve noticed a pair of eyes as pretty as yours.”

“I just moved in yesterday,” Davey confirms, blushing despite himself at such a blatant come on. “I’m David.”

“David, huh?” The stranger chuckles, trailing his fingers along Davey’s arm, then cupping a hand around Davey’s elbow. “And why’s a guy as good looking as you standing here all by himself?”

“Do you know Jack Kelly?” Davey asks, still trying to decide how he feels about the unexpected attention. “He’s supposed to be showing me around but I lost him somewhere in the crowd. Figured I’d post up someplace visible and wait for him to find me.” Davey finishes his drink, then throws his empty cup into a lone trash bag hanging off the back of a fold-up chair. “The fact that all the booze is here is just a convenient coincidence.”

Davey flashes the guy a grin but he doesn’t seem to share in the humor. Actually, his eyes have gone incredibly wide, a look of sudden comprehension sweeping across his face.

“Wait, David— Davey?” He snatches his hand back like Davey’s skin has turned scalding hot. “You’re Kelly’s Davey?”

Davey frowns. “I guess? I mean, I didn’t know he’d talked about me—“

The stranger’s eyes catch on something just over Davey’s shoulder, then he takes a large, deliberate step away. Davey turns to look, but a part of him already knows what he’s going to find.

Sure enough, it’s Jack. He making his way across the room at a steady clip, not hindered at all by the crowd of bodies between him and his goal, his gaze fixed unerringly on the guy standing next to Davey. He looks absolutely furious.

Davey’s breath hitches in his throat.

“Whoa, Kelly, sorry, I didn’t realize—“

Jack steps between them, positioning himself so that Davey is slightly behind him and decisively out of the stranger’s grasp. There’s an edge to his expression, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Don’t fucking touch him.”

The stranger backs even further away, his hands raised in surrender. Davey thinks he must disappear into the crowd but he’s honestly not watching, too distracted by the way Jack’s chest is heaving, by the fierce set of his shoulders and the clench of his jaw.

“Fucking asshole,” Jack fumes. “He’s lucky I didn’t knock his damn teeth out, always prowling around and never knowing when to back the fuck off. He shouldn’t have put his fucking his hands on you.”

The words fall out of Davey’s mouth before he can stop them. “Why not?”

This seems to shock Jack out of his anger. “What?” he asks, brow furrowed.

“Why not?” Davey repeats, meeting Jack’s gaze, chin tilted up in challenge. There’s a warmth rising up Davey’s belly: years of longing finally kindled by a combination of alcohol and the undeniable spark of Jack’s jealousy. “Why shouldn’t he put his hands on me?”

Jack’s gaze is a hot, heady thing. Davey imagines he can feel the weight of it sweeping over him, catching on the planes of his cheeks, the line of his throat. He licks his lips, just a quick little flick of the tongue; Jack’s eyes follow the motion and linger.

“Eventually someone’s going to,” Davey continues, stepping forward until he and Jack are standing almost chest to chest. “If not him then someone else.”

He reaches out and draws a finger down the side of Jack’s neck, scratching lightly at Jack’s pulse point as he goes. Jack swallows audibly, perfectly still except for his hands, which flex and clench erratically—like he’s using all his self control to keep them at his sides.

“Does that bother you, Jack?” Davey asks, soft but pointed. They’re teetering on the brink now: any action could be the one that topples them over the edge. “That someone’s going to have me? That someone else is going to touch me?”

Davey leans ever so slightly closer. “That I might want them to?”

“Dave,” Jack finally growls out, a warning and a plea. It sends a shiver of delight down Davey’s spine. “Davey, what’re you—”

“Jack,” Davey breathes, looking at Jack through his eyelashes. “Put your fucking hands on me.”

Jack moves like a dam bursting, grabbing Davey’s hips and shoving him back up against the nearest wall. Their bodies are plastered together, every inch of Davey molded against every inch of Jack, and the heat between their bodies is almost unbearable because Davey has wanted this, has asked for this, but he’d never dreamed that Jack would actually give it to him.

“There,” Jack says. His forehead rests against Davey’s, their lips only inches apart. “Got any other requests for me, sweetheart?”

The endearment almost seems to hit Davey like a physical blow—the low rasp of Jack voice and the simmering heat in his eyes are a merciless combination—and Davey has to bite back a whimper.

“I think you should kiss me,” Davey says, already dizzy with desire. “I want you to kiss me, and then I want everything you’re willing to give me because jesus, Jack—”

Jack’s eyes go impossibly dark, and then they’re kissing, Jack’s mouth moving hard and desperate against his own. It’s better than Davey could have ever imagined, the hot press of Jack’s lips and the rough slide of his tongue. Jack’s hands drift up, catching against the hem of Davey’s shirt then slipping underneath, palming greedily at the bare skin of Davey’s back. The touch makes Davey shudder and pant, and his hands curl against the collar of Jack’s shirt, the fabric bunching up as he clings to him.

“Jack,” Davey moans as Jack ducks his head and starts blazing a trail down the side of Davey’s neck, wet and searing. “Jack, oh my god⁠—”

“Is this what you wanted, Dave?” Jack’s voice rumble’s right in Davey’s ear, his teeth scraping against Davey’s skin. “Is this what you wanted, sweetheart?”

Davey gasps and trembles. Sweetheart.

“Yes,” Davey eventually gets out. “Fuck, Jackie, can I⁠— can we⁠—”

“Tell me what you want, Davey,” Jack orders, and one of his hands moves to curl under Davey’s thigh, the other a hot brand against the small of his back. “You gotta give me your words, I gotta hear you say it.”

“I already told you,” Davey pants, fingers digging into Jack’s shoulders as he melts into him. “Everything. Anything.”

Jack groans somewhere deep in his chest, then kisses him again, messy and frantic. “Shit, Dave, are we actually⁠—”

“Take me back to the dorm,” Davey says. The party is still in full swing, drunken chatter and bass-heavy music pulsing all around them, but Davey only has eyes for Jack. Always for Jack. “Take me back to the dorm and fuck me like you mean it.”

Jack makes a noise⁠: a throaty, involuntary little keen. His expression is a mix of awed disbelief and simmering lust. “Jesus Christ, Davey, where the hell is this⁠— I’d give you anything, anything you ask me for, but are you sure you want to⁠— Are you sure you want me to⁠—”

Davey stops that line of thought in its tracks with another biting kiss. “I want you. Jackie, I want you.” He gives Jack a considering look, then lets his gaze wander away. “But if you don’t want to, I can go hunt down the guy from earlier—he seemed plenty interested before you scared him away.”

Immediately, Jack’s lip curls up in something like a snarl, his expression shading dark and possessive once again. It’s exhilarating.

“Are you tryin' to provoke me?” Jack grinds out. His grip has tightened to just this side of bruising.

“It it working?” Davey breathlessly asks.

Jack’s fingers close around Davey’s wrist and the next thing he knows Jack’s dragging him through the crowd and out of the frat house, only letting him go when they come up to Jack’s car. The journey home passes in a blur. Jack drives like a mad man, knuckles white with how hard he’s gripping the steering wheel, and between one moment and the next they’re pulling up to Jack’s dorm.

Jack’s hands are shaking as he works his key into the deadbolt, cursing under his breath as he wrestles the door open. He ushers Davey inside and kicks the door closed with his foot, but before he can get his bearings Davey shoves him up against it.

Their next kiss is absolutely filthy, all tongues and teeth and frenzied heat sparking between them.

“Off, off,” Davey says, tugging at the bottom of Jack’s t-shirt. Their lips separate just long enough for Jack to wrestle his shirt off, then clash back together.

They move clumsily towards Jack’s bed, neither one willing to let go of the other long enough to cross more easily. Davey pushes Jack down onto the mattress, then climbs on top of him, his thighs bracketing Jack’s hips.

“Holy shit, Davey, I can’t⁠— Is this real?” Jack groans, watching with wide, wide eyes as Davey pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it aside, then settles himself more firmly in Jack's lap. “Or did I drink too much and pass out under a coffee table somewhere?”

“If this is a dream, I’m going to be incredibly upset when I wake up,” Davey answers, rocking his hips down against Jack’s until they’re both gasping at the friction. “Yes, Jack⁠—”

“God, this is like somethin’ straight out of my dirtiest fantasies,” Jack says, his hands splayed wide and possessive around Davey’s ribcage. “You at the party, looking up at me all pissed off and gorgeous, desperate for my hands on you. Fuck, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted you.”

“Tell me,” Davey demands, cupping a hand around the back of Jack’s neck and leaning in to slot their mouths together in another passionate kiss. “Tell me how long you’ve wanted me.”

“I’ve… wanted you⁠... for ages,” Jack pants against Davey's mouth, his hands shifting down to wrap around Davey’s waist and pull their bodies even closer together. “Like, since junior prom, if not earlier. I saw Lonnie Vega groping your ass in the middle of the gym during the slow dance and hadta stop myself from breaking his nose.”

“I’ve wanted you since the summer after sophomore year,” Davey replies, fingers curling in Jack’s hair. “You got drunk at Amy Nelson’s pool party and told me I had the most stupidly pretty eyes in the entire universe.”

Davey bites his lip, then confesses, “I almost climbed into your lap right then and there.”

Jack’s hands spasm against Davey’s skin, then clamp down even harder around Davey’s hips. “Fucking fuck. You can’t just—”

That’s all the warning Davey gets before Jack flips them, leaving Davey flat on his back with Jack cradled between his thighs. Jack pulls him into an absolutely scorching kiss, devouring his mouth so thoroughly that Davey can’t do anything except hold on and let him, until he’s a breathless, pliant mess sprawled across the bed sheets.

Jack’s tears himself away, his fingers fumbling at his fly. Davey goes to do the same to his own and second later they’re tangled together⁠ again, this time with the intoxicating slide of bare skin against bare skin.

“Jack,” Davey whimpers after several long moments of kissing and touching. “Jack, I want⁠—”

“I know, sweetheart,” Jack says. “I gotcha.”

Jack pulls away to dig around in the drawer of his nightstand⁠ and Davey feels the loss of Jack’s body heat, of Jack’s weight pressing him down into the mattress, like an ache in his chest. Jack comes back with a condom and a bottle of lube, which he quickly uncaps and drizzles over his fingers.

“Yeah?” Jack says, looking to Davey for permission.

“Yeah, Jack, just hurry up⁠ and—” The rest of Davey’s words dissolve into a throaty sigh as the first of Jack’s fingers presses inside of him. “Mmmmm, yes.”

“God, Davey, you’re perfect like this,” Jack murmurs, expression reverent. “So perfect for me.”

It’s overwhelming⁠—the gravitational pull of Jack’s gaze, the protective cage of his body over Davey’s⁠, the incredible feeling of Jack’s finger stretching him open. Jack bends down to kiss him as he works a second finger inside and Davey’s arms come up to loop around Jack’s neck to keep him there, desperate for something to anchor him in the wash of sensations.

When Jack curls his fingers up and finally brushes against Davey’s prostate, Davey throws his head back with a choking moan, his nails digging into Jack’s shoulders as he writhes and shakes. Jack zeros in on that spot with a single minded focus, a third finger slipping in as his movements speed up, and Davey nearly sobs with how good it all feels.

“Jack,” Davey begs. “Jackie, that’s enough, come on.”

Jack presses a kiss to the inside of Davey’s knee, then tears open the condom and rolls it into place. Davey tilts his hips up for a better angle and the tip of Jack’s dick rubs directly over his hole, causing them both to moan. Then Jack finally presses forward, filling Davey in one careful, fluid movement, and Davey almost can’t breathe with how much he wants this.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Jack hisses as he bottoms out, his hips sitting flush against Davey’s ass. He’s biting his lip so hard it looks like he might draw blood, his eyes blown out with desire. “You feel so damn good.”

“Jack,” Davey whimpers. He squirms a little, impatient and longing for more, then wraps his legs around Jack’s waist to draw him even closer. The adjustment causes Jack’s dick to sink that much deeper inside him, and Davey’s mouth parts around a strung-out whine. “Jack, fuck me.”

Jack’s response is a full-body shudder. “I⁠— shit, yeah, okay.”

He pulls out the barest amount, then slowly thrusts back in, starting to work up into a steady pace. Davey’s hands scrabble against Jack’s back, each grind of Jack’s hips sending bolts of pleasure shooting down his spine, and Jack leans down and slants his mouth across Davey’s in another kiss⁠—full of emotion, full of promise.

And it’s amazing, it’s more than amazing, but there’s something that Davey wants, and Jack said he’d give him anything if he just asked for it it.

“I thought you were going to fuck me like you mean it,” Davey gasps out between thrusts.

Jack’s hips stutter, then still. “...What?” he breathes.

“You heard me,” Davey says, though he can’t help but squirm a little, feeling a hot blush spread across his cheeks. “Fuck me like you fucking mean it.”

Jack stares at him, and the expression on his face is like nothing Davey’s ever seen.

“David,” Jack says in a voice like gravel⁠⁠—one final warning.

Davey lets his arms stretch over his head, his head tilted in offering. He looks up at Jack from under his eyelashes and murmurs, “Please?”

Jack snaps. His next thrust has enough power behind it that it threatens to send Davey’s head slamming into the wall above to the bed. Jack sets a brutal pace, driving into Davey hard and fast, and Davey cries out, clawing at Jack’s shoulders, helpless to do anything except feel as Jack thoroughly wrecks him.

“You never know when to stop pushing me, do you sweetheart?” Jack growls out, his words punctuated by a rough, dirty grind of his hips. Davey bucks and keens. “I’m so damn weak for you⁠—you can’t even imagine how much I want you, how much I need you.”

“Jack,” Davey sobs. “Yes, yes, yes, fuck⁠—”

“So fucking gorgeous,” Jack continues, and Davey thinks he can feel the words dragging over his skin, can feel the grit of each and every syllable. “Had every single person at that damn party staring at you and didn’t even notice. Made me wanna mark up your neck just so everyone knew not to fucking touch you.”

Jack bends down to draw the flat of his tongue across Davey’s collarbones, then bites down on the juncture between his neck and shoulder, his hips still pistoning in and out, in and out. “Because no one’s supposed to touch you but me, isn’t that right David?” He circles his hips, then snaps them forward, the head of his dick hitting right against Davey’s prostate. “No one’s hands but mine.”

And Davey can barely speak through the fire racing through him, can barely think through the sheer ecstasy of it all, but he manages to babble out, “Yes, Jack, just you, only you, god, please don’t stop⁠—”

“Mine,” Jack growls. “Mine.”

He reaches between them to wrap a hand around Davey leaking, neglected dick and Davey vision whites out, back arching high off the bed as he comes hard against Jack’s stomach. He comes back to himself just in time to watch as Jack follows him over the edge, his rhythm faltering as his orgasm washes over him.

They stay right where they are for several long moments afterwards, just breathing together. Then Jack says, quietly but full of feeling, “Anything you want. All you have to do is ask.”

Davey kisses him one more time, chaste and sweet. “I want everything,” he promises. “Everything you want to give me.”

#newsies #jack kelly #davey jacobs #javid #*final cut #*the writing desk #*editor's note #Tease series #tada more possessive jack #i don't have a reason for this except that i wanted it #i absolutely wrote this for me but hopefully some of yall like it too

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inkrabbit · 4 years ago

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Sucker - Pete x Vance

Sitting on his bed, yearbook resting in his lap, Pete stares at the signatures from the greasers. Summer break had started a few weeks ago, and while some students had gone back home or were on vacation outside of Bullworth, he had been trapped in his dorm. Sure, he went out occasionally to walk around town, see what was new at the cinema or get some fast food, but that was it. Even Jimmy had been too preoccupied to hang out with him, which wasn’t too much of a surprise. Sure, he had hoped maybe he could hang out with his best (and pretty much only) friend over the summer before the ginger went home, but when he found the dorm room closed and texts explaining he was working those odd jobs for extra cash, all those expectations had flew right out the window. Pete was used to being alone, sure, but this felt worse. Having finally made a friend and then to just be… forgotten.

So here he was, feeling sorry for himself and wondering if he could ease it by taking Vance up on his old offer. Join the greasers at the tenements, hang out and forget – just for a moment – that he was a loser. But the phone number seemed so intimidating, and as Pete grabbed his phone, he found it hard to do anything. To power it on, input his password and create a new text message. What would he say? “Hey Vance, I’m feeling lonely and wanna hang out”? Did that sound too desperate – too emotionless? Should he ask him how he was doing and hope he would be invited to hang out? He didn’t know how Jimmy did it. He had seen his friend start up a conversation out of nowhere. Even whenever he would text Pete, it would sometimes just be a simple “wanna hang out?” message that seemed so nonchalant. Is that what he should send?

His phone’s ringtone going off scares him, making him jump as he looks down at the caller ID. It’s a familiar phone number, and it’s only familiar because he’s spent the past hour or so staring at it in his yearbook. With a deep inhale, he accepts the call, holding his phone up to his ear.

“Hey, Vance! What’s up?” he greets, trying to sound confident as he closes the book, slipping it into his nightstand’s drawer.

“How’s it hangin’, big daddy?” What did he call him? Pete sits there, brows knitted together and mouth agape as the name replays over and over in his head. “You got my number memorized, huh? Now why’s that?”

“Ah, I was just gonna text you, actually,” he confesses, “Why do you have my number? I don’t remember giving it to you.”

“Jimmy gave it to me,” He can almost see the greaser shrug, his reply coming like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Now then, what were ya gonna text me?”

“Uh I guess – uh…” He’s stuck now, mind drawing a blank. He can hear Vance on the other side, an interested mhmm coming through loud and clear, curious to hear his reply. “I wanted to know if you wanted to hang out?”

There’s silence on the other end for a bit, and now he’s worried that was the wrong thing to say. He should’ve asked how he was doing instead, cursing himself for blurting out the first thing that came to mind. However, he starts to hear shuffling, and he can faintly make out someone else in the background, but not one he recognizes from the academy.

“If you don’t shut your mouth – not you, Petey – I’m gonna shut it for you!” Vance’s booming voice makes him jump, the sound of a door slamming shut at the end of his threat, as if proving a point. With a sigh of relief, he starts again in a calmer tone. “Now, what was that? Hangin’ out? Sure!”

“Ah, are you okay?” he asks, “Who was that?”

“Oh, ya mean the yellin’?” he chuckles, the shuffling continuing on the other side of the call. “Sorry ‘bout all that. Sergio’s a bit of a prick sometimes.”

“Sergio?” Vance lets out a breath that sounds like a mixture of a scoff and a chuckle.

“Older bro,” he tells him softly, and that airy, jokey tone has vanished. “Likes to butt into my life a lot. Annoyin’, but that’s why I stay away from home so much.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you were home…” He should’ve guessed. Vance wasn’t one of the quiet kids at Bullworth. He was probably busy for the summer, either being home or with friends.

“Nah, I need a break,” Pete can only guess he hears a window creaking open, and a few seconds later, Vance is letting out a huff. “You still at school? I’ll come swing by, pick you up. We can do whatever.”

“Really?” He tries to keep his cool and not sound like some desperate dweeb, but with the soft chuckle he gets, he knows he failed.

“Really. ‘Sides, I told ya to hit me up whenever. That’s why I gave you my number!” The comment makes him smile and Pete makes sure to let his appreciation be known. With a soft goodbye, he lets himself relax. A smile is plastered on his face and for a moment he wonders why Jimmy had given Vance his number. Whatever the reason, he doesn’t dwell on it too long. He knew Vance lived somewhere in New Coventry and he didn’t have long to get dressed.

Setting his phone on the nightstand, he hops up from his bed and walks over to his wardrobe. He keeps it casual, knowing Vance wasn’t exactly someone who critiqued people’s fashion too harshly. The first thing he grabs is the old band shirt Jimmy had left when he spent the night months earlier. It’s simple enough, a white Billy Talent shirt with a little design, “like a fire!” right below it. It’s a little baggy and the material isn’t the thickest, but it’s something and truth be told, he had always liked the shirt. Or, just maybe, he liked how cool it had looked on Jimmy and he hoped it would look just as good on him. Throwing on some old jeans and his sneakers, he ruffles his hand through his hair, ridding himself of any lint. He lingers for a moment, staring at himself in the mirror. Maybe he would grow his hair out this year? Something new.

With a shake of the head, he snatches his phone up and shoves it into his pocket, exiting his room and steering clear of Wade dumping one of the nerds into the nearby trashcan. Pushing open the doors, he jogs down the steps and makes his way over the main gate, anticipation coursing through him. A part of him is worried about how today’s events will transpire. What would they do? Would Vance make fun of him? Would he flake out? He did seem eager to meet up. But was that because he just wanted to get away from his brother?

“Ay, Petey!” He looks up, sending Vance a smile as the greaser approaches. Eyeing him up and down, Vance lets out a low whistle, eyebrows raised. “What’s your tale, nightingale? Ya look different!”

“Oh, I uh – I-I didn’t wanna make you wait,” he responds, letting out a nervous chuckle. Vance claps a hand on his shoulder, making him jump.

“Looks good on ya,” he tells him. Heat rushes to Pete’s face. How long had it been since someone had genuinely complimented him?

“T-thanks! You look good too!” It was the first time he had seen the teen like this. His hair had been slicked back, almost hastily, and while he still wore his leather jacket, the rest was different. A white dress shirt that had been unbuttoned, a black top underneath with matching jeans. Even his shoes were changed, old worn out high tops that were left untied.

“What? Ya like what ya see?” Vance’s teasing tone brings Pete out of his daze, the greaser laughing when he starts to stutter.

“I-I just – I mean I-” He takes a moment, breathing in and trying to collect himself as they start to walk. “Y-you just look different, too. Never seen you like that.”

“Got dressed quick,” he confesses, and even though his tone turns to a more calmer one, his smile never fades. “Wasn’t really expectin’ to go out today. Glad you asked, though. Sergio was startin’ his crap.”

“I never heard you talk of him,” That wasn’t much of a surprise. Pete had often kept his distance from shop class, intimidated of the clique and their hostile personalities. He wasn’t exactly the best at fixing bikes either and didn’t have much of a desire for it, which was why he had skipped it when filling out what extracurricular he had wanted. “What’s he like?”

Vance hums a bit, lost in thought as they pass over the bridge that led into Old Bullworth Vale. He tells Pete of how Sergio used to go to Bullworth, and how he was the main reason he got into fixing bikes and wanting to eventually move on to cars. They lived in a broken home, their father occasionally bringing home some woman for the night and locking them out. Sergio would often steal the keys to the car before they were pushed out, giving them a warm and somewhat safe place to sit in throughout the night. Vance never knew if his brother slept those nights, but he remembered falling asleep in the passenger seat, the older teen behind the wheel with a scowl on his face and switchblade in hand. They often parked on the street in the richer part of town, but Sergio was paranoid, knowing of the delinquents that roamed around. Apparently they were worse those few years ago from the stories he heard and the cuts and bruises on his brother’s body when he would come home in the early mornings. Vance even bragged about knowing how to set a broken nose and pop a shoulder back into its socket, much to Pete’s horror.

The stories of Sergio eventually turned into how Vance joined the greasers. Once the leader of the clique, he had filled Vance’s head with stories of shop class. The stupid antics he and the others would get into, the stories and conspiracy theories Neil would tell them. They all seemed very entertaining and fun, and it was no wonder Vance had wanted to experience it. Sergio had apparently appointed Johnny’s brother as leader, but had forced him to agree to watch over and take care of Vance when he started his high school life the following year, knowing how hostile the other member was. So before Vance had made friends with Lefty and made a strong connection, Johnny’s older brother was right by his side, deterring any other greaser that came up with ill intent.

“Maybe you’ll join us, too?” Vance’s suggestion catches Pete off guard, his eyes going wide as he looks at him. Could he ever really pass off as a greaser?

“I-I dunno,” he stammers softly, bringing a hand up to rub the back of his neck. “I-I don’t really see myself being… one of you guys.”

“I do!” he declares, a bright smile on his face. “C’mon! When school starts up, we’ll go talk to Neil!”

“We?” he repeats. Would Vance really go speak to the man with him to get him enrolled into shop?

“’Course! It’ll be fun!” he tells him confidently. His head is held high as he wraps an arm around his shoulder, bringing him closer. “You’ll have us to hang out with and protect you. What? You think sometimes I don’t wanna goof off in class?”

The greasers had always seemed so serious when it came to their bikes, but he told a different story. How he, Ricky and Peanut would make jokes, harass each other and even start small fights. They had been sent out more times than he could count, and Pete thought what that would be like.

“I’ll think about it,” he finally tells him. Throwing his fist in the air, Vance lets out an overjoyed holler. Pete supposed he would be speaking to Neil when August rolled around, and he would be spending more time with the greasers. At least he wouldn’t be alone.

Pete doesn’t realize they’ve made it all the way to the carnival until the loud music reaches his ears, having been too enticed in Vance’s interesting (and overly dramatic) stories. Some about the clique and some about his older brother. And as Vance pays for their way in, the greaser turns his attention to him.

“What about you?” he asks, curiosity thick in his voice as they find a bench to sit down on.

“W-what about me?” He lets out a nervous chuckle, avoiding the teen’s gaze.

“I told you all about me!” he starts as he raises his voice just a bit, “Now it’s your turn! What’s ol’ Petey’s life like?”

“Not as exciting as yours,” he confesses softly. Vance just scoffs, rolling his eyes with a smile on his face.

“Yeah, sure,” he dismisses with that snarky tone, “I seem to remember ya bein the one to operate that old hunk of junk in the junkyard way back when.”

“You mean the magnetized crane?” he clarifies, snicking as Vance rolls his eyes and waves a hand dismissively.

“Yeah, whatever,” He turns back to him, grin once again appearing on his face. “Now, again, tell me about yourself!”

“W-well...” There wasn’t much to tell, but Pete decided to share anyway. His story wasn’t as exciting or scary, but Vance seemed to take interest. He scoffed when Pete said his parents lived decently close to the school, but he lived in the dorm room anyway because his parents wanted “some peace and quiet”. No wonder he was so awkward. Vance would bet anything that his parents were to blame for the younger teen’s poor social skills. Not to mention his father was a librarian, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the man kept a quiet tone around the house too.

When asked about any siblings, Pete could only shake his head. His parents were dismissive of his existence, often leaving him to his own devices, only coming around once in a while to check on him. His main entertainment was watching TV or playing video games, occasionally even drawing. His parents would buy him little sketchbooks, seemingly pleased that he had found something quiet to do without them having to hear noises coming from the television set. He did admit that he had a hamster at one point, an orange and white long-haired rodent that was his best friend for a few years before it passed from old age. It was sad that he didn’t even seem to have friends growing up, his parents not wanting him to go out in fear he would get hurt or taken. Maybe that was the only nice thing Vance had heard about the couple, but Pete had been right. His stories weren’t as exciting. Apparently his first year at the academy had been the most thrilling time of his life, and Jimmy had been his first and only friend. Vance couldn’t imagine having a life so… sad.

“How’s ‘bout we keep makin’ this depressin’ life of yours fun?” Vance suggests, a glint flashing across his eyes as he grabs the younger teen’s hand, pulling him up from the bench. Pete falters and stutters out a flurry of questions, almost tripping over his feet as he tries to keep up with the teen’s fast pace. Vance is just a bundle of laughter, promising him a night he wouldn’t forget.

They start at the back of the park first, walking through the freak show and marveling at the people behind the glass. Alfred, the skeleton man, had been the first freak to greet them, eyeing Pete as he took a drag from his cigarette. Seeing his bones poke out through his skin had sent shivers down his spine, and his voice held something Pete couldn’t quite place. As they made their way further in, they could hear Paris talking, making some remark about the show she was watching. Sitting on her couch with legs spread, she sent them an acknowledging smile as she picked up a few chips, throwing them into her mouth as she scratched at her beard. Of course, Vance had a couple remarks about her, but Pete had tried to drown him out as he led him throughout the rest of the freak show.

The others had all been interesting, and Pete had wondered how life could be so weird. Siamese twins, a mermaid that Vance wasn’t too sure was real. However, the one who stuck out the most to Pete was Drew, the crazy painted man. His screaming and incoherent rambling had already made the teen nervous, but when the man threw himself against the bars of his enclosure, he had jumped back with a shriek, scared the bars wouldn’t hold him. Vance had grabbed his arm, steadying him as he tried to calm his nerves.

“He’s just actin’,” he tells him as he shoots an agitated glance at Drew, “Guy’s just some wacko. Probably doin’ this for the easy money.”

Pete just nodded his head as he followed him, but the screaming had stuck with him, and he was sure it would for the rest of his life. And though he didn’t want to admit it, he was more than overjoyed to have walked out of the freak show, letting out a breath he didn’t even realize he had been holding in. Maybe it was the dark lighting or how cramped everything felt, but Pete didn’t like it, only noticing once they were outside just how close he had been walking to Vance.

“How about we try out those rides ‘fore it gets any darker?” It’s only now that Pete realizes the sun is starting to set. With a smile, he gives him a nod and follows him over to the Big Squid. The line moved quick through the queue, and before they knew it, they were being seated in one of the carts. The monotone voice of Freeley comes through over the speakers, the request that everyone keeps hands and feet inside and not try to stand up during the ride. And when it starts, picking up speed and throwing them around, Pete can’t keep the smile off of his face, occasionally glancing over to Vance, seeing him laughing as well. It felt nice for Pete, to feel like he finally belonged somewhere or meant something to someone.

By the time they get off, both are a bit dizzy. Pete raises his hand to rest it on Vance’s shoulder in order to stabilize himself, but when he finally registers the cool leather beneath his palm, he pulls away, worried about what response he would receive from the greaser. However, Vance just gives him a joyful smile as he leads him over to the roller coaster. They’re not seated in the front, Pete being too nervous, so both opt for the cart in the middle.

“Lemme slide by ya there,” Vance’s voice is soft as he moves over Pete, who’s sitting in the seat closest to the steps they had just walked up. They pull the bar down securely, Pete giving a few extra tugs to ensure it wouldn’t be going anywhere. Of course this doesn’t go unnoticed, and the greaser snickers softly at the younger teen’s actions. Once more, they hear the monotone announcement before the ride starts, launching them towards the opening of the canyon before pulling them up. Everyone else on the ride has their arms raised, but Pete’s holding onto the metal bar for dear life. And as they approach the top of the hill, he screws his eyes shut, body tensing as he prepares for the worse.

A scream is pulled from him as the coaster falls down the hill, and Vance reaches over to pry his left hand from the handle bar, raising it into the air with his, yelling at him to just let loose and have fun. Although his body is trembling a bit from the fall, he takes the advice and finally opens his eyes, loosening the grip he had on his other hand and letting it raise into the air as well. Vance is still holding his hand, palms pressed together as Pete grips him with almost the same intensity as he was the bar. However, despite the biting wind in his face and the sharp turns that throw him into the teen, Pete can’t keep the large smile off of his face. Vance is right, this is a lot more fun. And as the coaster returns its original spot, the two are still laughing. The bar rises and Pete stands up, stepping out, still holding Vance’s hand to keep him steady and make sure he doesn’t trip as the greaser asks him how his hair looks. There’s one more ride and as they walk over, Pete has to stop the teen before he pays yet again for their fun.

“You’ve paid for everything!” he tells him with a laugh, digging out a dollar from his pocket and giving it to the operator. “It’s time I paid for something.”

“Well, ain’t you just the sweetest,” Vance smiles at him as he leads him over to the rickety seat. He scoots over to the end, allowing Pete to climb in after him, both pulling down the bar that creaked loudly. The ride starts, jerking them forward a bit as they follow the curve up. The sun’s set by now, and the carnival lights illuminate below them as they’re taken higher and higher up. Pete shivers as the soft breeze picks up, but he tries to concentrate on the view around them. He can see the beach in the distance, the lighthouse’s light rotating around. Their cart stops at the very top, rocking slightly and Pete looks below. They’re so high off the ground, it’s intimidating. Another shiver runs through him, this one out of fear.

“You cold?” Vance questions, cocking his head as he looks at him. Pete lets out a soft hum, eyebrows raised as he turns his gaze to meet his. Vance just gives him a cheeky smile as he brings his hands up, gripping his jacket and removing it from him. It was the first time Pete had seen a greaser without their iconic coat on, and he was honestly surprised to see that he actually had some muscle to him.

“U-uh… what’re you doing?” Pete’s confused when Vance drapes the jacket over his shoulders, but the warmth he feels is more than welcoming.

“You’re cold, ain’t ya?” he asks with a small chuckle, “I’m fixin’ it!”

“Y-you don’t h-have to,” he stammers softly, but Vance doesn’t seem to be taking no for an answer. He just sits there, a smile on his face as he tilts his head up, looking at the stars.

“Glad ya asked me out, ya know?” he starts, catching Pete off guard. He was glad? “Gets kinda… crazy at home sometimes, and everyone else was off doin’ their own thing. Managed to find Jimmy and get your number, just to chat but… well, you had a better idea.”

“Yeah, I hear ya,” he agrees, going to hold the jacket close as he matches Vance’s smile. “I don’t really got anyone except Jimmy, and he’s been busy. I'm too cool to be a dork, and too dorky to be anything else, so I’m always just… alone.”

“No you’re not,” The confident tone makes Pete knit his eyebrows together. “Ya got me now! And soon, you’ll have the greasers! Peanut’s gonna be the leader, and I just know he’d be happy to have ya!”

“Maybe cause I’m Jimmy’s friend,” he scoffs softly, looking to the ground as the ride resumes, slowly bringing them down. “I just… I wanna feel like I exist without him, you know?”

“You do,” Vance wraps an arm around his shoulders, bringing him closer to him. “You and me? We’re existin’, right now, without Jimmy. And you’ll be existing, without Jimmy, when you join us.”

“Yeah, sure. We’ll see,” Maybe it was the low self-esteem Pete always had throughout his life. How dull and mediocre it was, and how the most exciting thing to ever happen to him was falling in with the only two psychopaths in all of Bullworth. “Just feels like I only had a meaning when Gary and Jimmy showed up in my life.”

“And you’d be wrong,” As they get to the bottom and the railing lifts, the two make their way out of the old cart, thanking the man and being on their way. When they walk to the gates, Vance’s arm finds its way back across Pete’s shoulder and they fall into step towards the exit. “Tonight’s been amazing, and it’s because you asked me to come hang. Not Jimmy, and sure as hell not Gary. Don’t see any of those two makin’ you do this.”

“You’re right,” he chuckles. They walk back through the tunnel, Vance still giving him a pep talk he probably needed years ago. He’s still holding onto the jacket, his face tinted red and a smile pulling at his lips. It’s not long before they get into a more friendly conversation, making jokes and thoughts about what the next school year would hold. Vance kept referring to him as the newest greaser, and at this point, Pete wasn’t even denying him or the idea. He loved the thought in fact. To be part of a clique and feel like he belonged? Have something relatively close to a family that would care for him and make him feel like he mattered? It was almost like a dream come true.

They walk all the way back to school, sneaking past the prefects that were out prowling, looking for any students breaking curfew. It was a lot warmer inside the dorms when they entered, the doors shutting loudly behind them as they walked down the hall and towards Pete’s room. However, that was as far as Vance went. Standing outside of his room, he’s practically beaming at the younger teen.

“I had fun,” he tells him, and Pete can only nod in agreement. They stood closely together, and the faint smell of Vance’s cologne mixed with the cigarettes he smoked almost religiously had radiated off of him. It was nice, calming in a way.

“I uh – I’m uh… I-I’m really glad you called,” Pete laughs, turning his gaze to the floor. “Not sure I would’ve been able to text you.”

“Me too,” Curling his index finger under Pete’s chin, Vance raises his face so he’s looking at him again. Softly brushing his thumb across his bottom lip, he leans in to press a kiss to his mouth. Eyes going wide, Pete stares at him in disbelief when he pulls away, hearing a chuckle. “You have a good night, Petey. Maybe we can hang out again tomorrow.”

He opens his mouth to say something – anything, but nothing comes out. So instead, his just nods, his face on fire as the greaser chuckles once again. He takes a step back, gives him one last smile and finally moves to leave the dorm. Pete’s knees feel weak, his heart racing, thudding so loud against his chest that it reverberates in his ears. He turns to go inside of his room, but a gasp escapes his lips. He rushes after Vance, flinging the heavy door to the dorm rooms open.

“Y-your jacket!” he calls after the teen. Turning back with an innocently confused face, he looks Pete up and down. The leather jacket is still hanging from his shoulders. It was cute that he didn’t put his arms through the sleeves.

“You keep it,” he tells him, a smug grin forming. “Every greaser needs a leather jacket! Consider it a gift!”

“O-oh, o-okay…” He smiles, shrinking in on himself just a bit. “Thank you! I’ll take good care of it!”

Vance just nods, turning his heels and continuing his way out of school grounds and towards home. Pete watches him until he makes a right, disappearing behind the walls. With a soft sigh, he closes the door and returns to his room. He gently takes the jacket off, hanging it on the coat hanger by the door. His heart fluttered as he admired it, and he couldn’t wipe the smile off of his face. He owed Jimmy his gratitude, and come the beginning of the school year, he was going to make his way down to shop class and speak with Neil about joining.

#bully #bully scholarship edition #vance medici #pete kowalski #greaser #Sucker #kinda my oc #I own Sergio I guess #might actually make a legit story out of this oneshot :x

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highqueenofelfhame · 5 years ago

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destruction of gov’t property.

this wasn’t supposed to be angsty but whoops, there it is. It was just after lunch when the naval guard showed up to her office. She was halfway through a new manuscript, curled up in her favorite chair for the job with her shoes kicked off on the rug. The morning had been slow and easy, not many people in and out of her office to bother her while she read. But then the young man from the military had shown up and asked her to come with him, and the morning had begun a slow descent into her personal hell.

The entire way to the base, he didn’t say anything. When she asked what was going on, he merely said he wasn’t able to tell her but she would find out as soon as they got to the base. The entire way there, her heart had been thundering in her chest like drum beats before an ancient war.

As she walked down the hall she kept her fingers tightly wound together to keep them from shaking. They were cold and clammy; her mind was completely blank. Nesta refused to let her mind wander, to think about anything at all that might have gone wrong today. He was fine. Cassian was —

“Hey, sweetheart.” His voice behind her was enough to make her knees feel weak as she spun around to face him. Cassian’s arms were around her waist and her own fell around his neck before she even saw his face. Nesta had never been so happy to see that insufferable, smug grin when she pulled back to look at him in the year that she had known him. He ducked down and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips as he took her hand and began leading her the rest of the way down the hall.

“What’s going on?”

“My superiors,” he said the word with an eye roll, “Needed to have a word with you.”

“Your superiors?” Again, that harsh drumming in her bones. What on earth could Cassian’s superiors want with her? She stopped him, turning to place a hand on his chest. “What did you do?”

Cassian didn’t have time to answer her, though, because a door was opened across the hall and Rhysand stepped out. Like Cassian, he was dressed in camouflage fatigues and a white t-shirt. It took quite a lot for her to not roll her eyes, to avoid the greeting she usually gave her sister’s fiancé. It tended to be a short, clipped, and downright snarky thing. But if Cassian was referring to him as his superior… No. Maybe she shouldn’t if she was there on some official capacity.

“Nesta.”

“Rhysand,” she said, entering the office and standing awkwardly in the middle of the room for a moment before Azriel motioned to a chair for her to sit behind. He was behind the large, mahogany desk and Rhys took up post leaning against the wall behind the door. Cassian stood behind her, his thumbs drawing not-so-comforting circles over her shoulder blades. It was quiet for a beat before she quietly asked, “What’s going on?”

Azriel cleared his throat almost uncomfortably and Nesta looked from Cassian to his adoptive brother, then to Rhys. Her heart was still thrumming away, getting more and more anxious by the second. There wasn’t a single thing she could think of that would result in this.

“On behalf of the Navy of Velaris, it is my duty to inform you, Nesta Archeron, that you are receiving a warning for the destruction of government property.” The words started to dim out until they were muffled, like she was underwater. She looked at her boyfriend, really looked at him and took in the grim expression on her face as he tapped the side of his neck where the wisps of a bruise she’d left behind with her mouth was only just exposed. Look at him until the edges of her vision went white with anger as it sunk in that this was a stupid, immature joke. Rhys, she expected this from. Cassian, sure. But the fact that Azriel was even in on the joke, when they had included other people on the base that likely knew what was happening in this room brought everything to a screeching, grinding halt. All it took from Nesta to shut Azriel up, to get Rhysand to keep his snorts of laughter to himself was a single hand that she held up.

“You are all assholes,” She said, nostrils flaring as she stood, throwing the door open so hard it slammed into Rhys’ body. Then she was storming down the hallway, the heels of her shoes an angry echo in her wake.

“I told you she wouldn’t find it as funny as Feyre did,” Cassian said somewhere behind her, glumly. It dug further under her skin that he seemed to know she wouldn’t like the joke but he’d done it anyway. It didn’t take long for him to be jogging down the hall after her, grabbing her hand and trying to pull her to a stop. Nesta, however, jerked her hand from him and stumbled back a few steps, a single finger held out before her.

“I will see you at home,” was all she offered him, shaking her head in disbelief before storming out through the doors. A few low whistles and the sound of someone clapping Cassian on the back followed her out.

~*~

She was chopping bell peppers when he got home from the base that afternoon. The dull thud of the blade hitting the cutting board was all she focused on when he unlocked the door to her apartment and slipped inside. They were perfect slices, as perfect as the stab wound she could cut his heart out with for being such a blind moron.

When he entered the kitchen, he placed his keys on the counter and moved to stand behind her, hands sliding around her waist. Nesta kept chopping her vegetables carefully though, not acknowledging him beyond tilting her head away from him when he moved to kiss her cheek. With a sigh, he settled by pressing his lips to her shoulder. She wanted to shrug away from that, too.

“Sweetheart,” he sighed, “It was meant to be funny. I did it to Feyre a few years ago when it happened to Rhys. Rhys thought it would be funny to get you back.”

And Nesta remembered it, the prank call she got from Cassian as a verbal warning. They had all laughed about it, teased her for weeks. But what took this from being a funny joke to not being funny was the half hour car ride where she’d been scared something had happened to him. What made it not funny was them not telling the kid that drove her what to tell her when she asked. What made it not funny was the stark realization that she was in love with him, and she wasn’t sure what she would do if something had happened. If Cassian had been broken into pieces that she couldn’t pick up, what would happen then? Her eyes stung; it might have been the onions or her emotions.

“I’m not some bitch that can’t take a joke,” she said softly, laying down the knife and turning to face him. “I can take the joke.”

“I know y —”

“What I couldn’t take was the silence in the car on the way to the base. Or that that kid couldn’t and wouldn’t answer any of my questions. What I couldn’t take was walking down the halls wondering if I was being taken to Rhysand’s office to be told a training exercise or whatever went wrong and we needed to plan a funeral.” Tears, hot and burning, raced down her cheeks and neck, disappearing beneath the collar of her shirt. “You scared me, Cassian.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, his fingers were brushing her tears from her cheeks. He kept trying to meet her gaze but she kept her eyes on his chest, eyes falling to his heart.

Cassian sighed then, pressed his forehead to her hers and closed his eyes. Finally, hesitantly she let her hands fall to rest against his chest, fingernail scratching at the fabric of his t-shirt. “I wasn’t thinking,” he finally said.

“I know you weren’t,” she huffed a laugh, letting him press a kiss to the corner of her mouth before she turned back to making dinner. “You never are.”

Cassian’s fingers slipped into her hair, tugging it all over one shoulder so he could press a kiss to the nape of her neck, the curve of her shoulder. “How can I make it up to you?” He asked, bending to kiss between her shoulder blades over the t-shirt she wore. Nesta shrugged a shoulder, eyes closing as he kissed the side of her neck, her ear, her jaw, until he was spinning her back to face him and capturing her lips with his own.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

#nessian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #nesta archeron #cassian #rhysand #azriel

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mail-me-a-snail · 5 years ago

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House Keys

chase…oh chase i love you so but you’re in for it now. chase brody, the former bro average superstar, comes home for the first time in a year.

part 1 part 2 part 3 Even if Chase Brody had moved out the year prior, he still has the keys to his brothers’ house. He stands now on the crisp, green lawn and swings the key-chain around. He cards a hand through his hair and rubs his eyes—he doesn’t get much sleep these days. Three years before he moved into his brothers’ house, he was sleeping in the back of his car. He’s been conditioned to fall asleep on the hard leather of the car seat, not in his own bed. He didn’t have a bed those weeks. Stacy and him still don’t talk.

He shoots Marvin a text.

hey bro im outside. will come in with the keys. jackie okay? are you all okay? There’s no response. Chase shrugs and tucks his phone into the pocket of his jeans. He’s a little hurt, but it’s fine. It’s Chase’s first visit since he’s moved out. It’s exactly as he remembers it. The lawn is in immaculate condition, with the hedges trimmed neatly and flowers springing up all over the place—Jameson was always in charge of that. He has an eye for lawn care. He takes after Jack. The door and porch are dark mahogany, though it’s washed in orange now as the sun is starting to set. The house itself is painted an egg white. The tiles of the roof are black. Potted plants litter the porch, some new, some old, but all beautiful and trimmed to perfection. No doubt it’s Marvin’s work. The sidewalk he stands on is decorated with faded chalk drawings. Robbie. Of course. Chase is standing on his own face drawn in chalk. It’s a wonderful likeness and Chase can’t help but smile. Robbie even got the faded green in his hair. He steps off. He doesn’t want to ruin a masterpiece. The light in the wide upper story window—Henrik’s room—is off. The doctor’s probably getting his much needed and deserved forty winks. The only light on is in the living room. He takes a deep breath, the kind that pulls his shoulders up like he’s shrugging, and walks towards the door. Anxiety wriggles in his belly. He clutches the keys tightly in his hand—they bite into the skin and leave an impression with their teeth. He remembers the call with Marvin the night before. He had been in his apartment putting together some videos when his phone had rung. Marvin had explained everything to him; finding Jackie bleeding out in the city, teleporting him home, the surgeries…all of it. Jackie was okay, Marvin had assured him, and that he would heal. But the fact that it was…was you-know-who’s work… It hadn’t stop his hands from shaking as soon as he said goodbye and dropped the call nor did it let him breathe. His panic attacks were always bad, but he managed the one he had that night fine. And the one in the bathroom this morning. On the drive here, too. He doesn’t have everything under control yet. Being here again reminds him of all the times you-know-who had been there. He had been there, for Jack and Henrik. It went the same way; a phone call. A panic attack. The fear. Now it’s happening all over again. Why can’t he ever escape the demon? Why can’t any of them? Even a year after…he still looks over his shoulder and tosses and turns at night. When will he stop being afraid? The keys bite into his palm like his old dog had lovingly done. He misses him. Stacy had to take that away from him, too. The sting and the thought of Bulls-eye grounds Chase and he lets go, letting it hang by the key-chain instead. Deep breaths. He slides the key into the lock and turns. The door opens. Chase looks around as he steps into the hall. It’s just the same. The walls are orange. The umbrella stand to the right of the door filled with Marvin’s props, the coat hanger opposite, and the stairs upwards at the very front. To his immediate left is the closed door to Henrik’s makeshift clinic. To his right is the doorway to the living room. There’s a movie on, though Chase can’t identify it as the volume is set way down low. He doesn’t know where to go first as he stands awkwardly in the middle space. “Hello?” He says to the seemingly empty house. “Is anyone home? Marv? Schneep?” “Chase,” His heart skips a beat when he hears the raspy call from the living room, but he brightens when he recognizes the voice. “In here.” Chase has to stop himself from running into the living room. Brown couch, flat screen TV (playing Die Hard, of course), wide windows, and white curtains that blow softly. The coffee table has coffee mug rings on it and abandoned medical supplies like gauze, cotton balls, and antibiotics. Henrik’s neatly folded coat, too. Jackie sits on the couch in a black t-shirt with the brightly coloured graphic of a cartoon dog on a bicycle. He wears the flamingo shorts to accompany it. It’s the first time Chase has seen the hero out of his supersuit; it almost feels wrong. His hair is the neon green Chase remembers it to be. He’s wearing his mask. The only sign he’s been hurt at all are the bandages around his neck and forehead. He’s hardly watching the movie. He has a big smile on his face, the toothy kind of sunshine Chase missed so much. “Jackie,” he breathes. Chase wants to cry with relief. He settles with hugging Jackie as tightly as he can. “I missed you, Jackie,” he says, muffled as he buries his head into the hero’s chest. “I was so worried about you!” “O-ow, ow,” the other hacks out a laugh and winces, patting Chase’s back. “I missed you, too, bud, but…stab wound.” “Shit, right, sorry.” Chase lets go, albeit reluctantly. “Dude, how are you? It’s, I mean—I’ve never been stabbed before.” “I don’t recommend it,” Jackie grimaces. There’s humour in his voice but he also sounds exhausted. “You get here okay?” “Parked out front,” he says, “Came in with the keys. Still have ‘em.” He holds them up to confirm that. He drops them in his lap. “How’re you holding up?” “This thing—” Jackie pats his stomach, presumably where the wound is. “—is a bitch and a half of pain. The neck thing I can handle. It just hurts to talk.” He coughs. It sounds like shaking a dead bush. “Really hurts.” “Oh, I can do the talking, if you want.” “No, it’s okay, Chase. Marvin did something to me, I think, when I was out. Makes my mouth and throat taste like mint. Pretty soothing, actually. Besides, I haven’t seen you in forever! I want to talk.” How can he be so chipper even after he almost died? Chase doesn’t understand it. He really is a comic book superhero. Always getting back up again. “Aw, it hasn’t been that long,” Chase ducks his head, sheepish, but straightens right away. “Can I ask, though? What…what happened?” The silence is thick with tension. Chase bounces his leg, the sole of his sneaker squeaking against the hardwood floor, and pulls at the rubber bracelet around his right wrist under his hoodie sleeve. He picks at the multicoloured bandages on his fingers and arms. Jackie turns the TV off just as John McClain launches himself through a window. He turns to Chase. Their knees touch. “This is what I remember,” Jackie says, and begins. He had met Anti during one of his day patrols, but it wasn’t the song and dance number they usually did; it was in the back-alleys where no one could see them. Maybe that’s what Anti wanted. Maybe it wasn’t. “Anti had…had said something to me,” he mumbles, “that I’m not the hero I think I am. That all of what we do, this hero versus villain thing, is just a show. I-I don’t know why he’s been pretending this long, or…or what he hopes to gain, but…” Chase watches him closely. Jackie stops, shakes his head, and moves on. That’s how the hero has always been. Hit a wall? Just go around. Forget about the wall and keep going. He remembers the fight—and the pinning stab through the gut. The words Anti whispered into his ear. Chase is trembling with raw anger as he sees the large dark bruise marks wrapped around Jackie’s neck where Anti’s hands had been. “But after that,” he growls in frustration, “I can’t remember anything else. By my wound here, I can guess what finished me off.” He taps his neck. “Everything else is beyond me.” “Fuck him” Chase breathes, voice quivering with fury, “You’re a hero to me, to everyone. To Jack.” Jackie flinches when he hears those words. “I don’t have any powers,” Jackie mutters. “What? Yeah, you do! That—that super strength of yours!” “Anti can manipulate objects,” Jackie shoots back, “Time and space, just like Marvin can. How do I know he hasn’t been doing it for me this whole time?” “I…I don’t know.” The anger evaporates as quickly as it came. “I-I don’t want to talk about this.” Jackie throws his hands up. “Please, Chase, let’s…let’s talk about you, okay? I want to hear about where you’ve been—what you’ve done.” Chase bites his lip, trying to find a way to stop the subject from changing. The one frustrating thing about superheroes? They build walls around them, shutting the people they love out hoping to save them from whatever inner turmoil they’re wrangling with. …Chase isn’t stupid or in denial. Even he can admit the similarities between them. But that’s just it. Chase knows he does it—Jackie doesn’t. He’d rather not push further and get into an argument, spoiling the whole visit, so Chase drops it. It’ll sit in the back of his mind, though. He tells Jackie about the new apartment; it’s spacious and less of a dump than the last one. Modest kitchen, shower instead of a tub. “I miss the tub here,” he says forlornly, gesturing to the stairs. “And my little rubber ducky. Shower’s okay, though.” He earns Jackie’s laugh. The apartment is far into the city, maybe ten blocks away from the alley Marvin had found Jackie in, and just across a coffee shop. Having cleaner, more colorful walls than ugly white granite that popcorned helps a lot to take his mind off more…painful things. He hung up posters, bought a flatscreen, had a whole new gaming rig up for himself—he’s doing okay for himself, he thinks. The therapy, the talking, has brought him out of the hole he was in three years before. He tells him about new friends. Baristas at the coffee shop who’ve recognized him as a regular. YouTube is more fun than anything for him right now. The Bro Average brand was dissolved, but he couldn’t care less. It had been time for a fresh start. His channel is up and running and he’s been invited to panels, talks, and conventions. Some people from AA said they had watched his videos. He tells Jackie about how good it is to just. Work. To produce content for others to consume, to make people happy, but not at the cost of his own happiness. He notices he’s rambling when Jackie says nothing and keeps beaming at him. He falters and lets his words trail off into silence. “What?” Chase says. “I’m so proud of you,” Jackie replies, and the pride is trembling in his voice. “Chase, you’ve gotten so far without us. You’ve got a job, a new house—you’re practically shining!” “You’re…you’re proud of me? You mean it?” Chase feels himself smile, too. “Yes. I’m proud.” Jackie puts a hand on his shoulder. “You’re my bro. You’re the bravest damn person I know and you’ve come out of this so strong, so…it’s…Jack would be proud too.” Chase understands why he starts crying. That’s all he ever wanted. To hear those words come out of Jackie’s mouth. It means he’s done it. He’s gotten better. Maybe not recovered fully, not just yet, but better. Even in his joy, he hates himself for crying because whenever he cries he bawls like a big baby. He buries his face into Jackie’s chest, shoulders shaking. He’s staring at the cartoon dog through blurry, teary eyes. The dog says, in a neon bubble, “RADICAL!” The other rubs his back in soothing circles. “That’s it, buddy,” Jackie whispers, “I’ve got you, bro.” Chase swallows thickly, sniffles, and wipes his face with the back of his hand. Jackie hands him a tissue and he blows. His eyes are stuffy. He looks up into Jackie’s eyes, milky white, hidden behind the film in the mask, but he can tell they’re full of soft, unspoken love. The hero holds his cheek. “Chase Brody Mcloughlin,” Jackie declares, “I, your loving bro, will never stop being proud of you. Don’t forget that.” “Thanks, Jackie,” he sniffs, wiping his eyes. “Thank you. It’s…i-it’s nice to hear that what I’m doing is finally right.” “We’re all proud of you.” Jackie’s hand drops but gives Chase’s shoulder one last firm pat. “S-speaking of,” Chase clears his throat. “Speaking of…where is everyone?” Jackie blanks. “Uh,” he says, unsure. “Good question, actually! No idea. I woke up, like, ten minutes before you came in. I kind of assumed Henrik went to work, and who knows where Marvin is at any given time? JJ and Robbie are out on vacation or something. It’s just Henrik, Marvin, and I.” “Huh,” Chase frowns and stands. “You wait here, Jackie. Henrik can’t have gone to work; he’d never leave you here alone.” “Marvin would be watching over me!” He argues. “This is Marvin we’re talking about!” He shoots back as he leaves the room. He considers going upstairs but stops before he can do it. He notices, to his surprise, that across the hall the clinic’s lights are on. How did he not notice that coming in? The harsh white fluorescents bounce off the tiles and under the door. Chase knocks. “Doc? Marv?” He says, “Yoo-hoo. Anyone in there?” Of course, unsettling silence follows. Great. Chase has played enough horror games to know that whatever’s on the other side is bad. He flinches as glass shatters behind the door. A shadow moves under the door. “Henrik?” “Schiesse!” comes a muffled curse to answer. Angry German swearing? Yeah. That’s Henrik. “What the hell was that?!” Jackie says from the couch, halfway to standing. Chase notices he’s wobbling like a newborn deer. “Jackie, get back on the couch,” Chase scolds the hero, “You’re in no condition to walk!” He turns back to the door. “Doc, I’m coming in.” He takes a deep breath, grips the doorknob, and turns. What he finds on the other side isn’t horrible, so he releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding. Henrik, hair messy and eye bags seemingly darker, clutching his head, is kneeling among shattered glass. From the way the metal table beside the hospital bed is on its side, Chase surmises that Henrik knocked it and the beakers that were on it to the ground when he tried to stand. “Doc!” He exclaims, rushing over to Henrik. He takes the doctor by the arm, helping him up, and looping the arm around his shoulders. “Danke,” Henrik grumbles, eyes still squeezed shut. “Chase, is that you?” “A-are you blind, Henrik?” Panic momentarily flares up in him. “Oh, jeez, I can get something for your eyes. Maybe ice—” “No,” Henrik sighs, but in the most affectionate way possible. He opens his eyes halfway, tired grey-blues looking up at him. “Chase, relax. I’m not blind. It’s these damn fluorescents—they could make me go blind. I don’t know why I thought they were a good idea. This nausea…it’s like someone took a hammer to my skull. Might as well have… I see enough of those lights in the hospital. Is it any wonder I wear glasses…” Henrik reaches into his pocket for something. He swears again as he brings out the bent and cracked frames of his glasses. “Oh, that is just great,” he hisses under his breath, “They must’ve gotten smashed in the fight.” “T…the what?” This is plenty strange already, but of course, he just has to notice only now that Marvin is crumpled in a desk chair, long, flowy hair messy and tangled, falling behind him as his head leans back, showing his neck. “Oh my God—Marvin!” “He’s okay,” Henrik straightens, though he’s still too weak to stand. Chase helps him into another chair. The doctor sits down with a sigh of relief, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. “What the hell happened here?” Chase gestures vaguely to the entire room. “To Marvin? Actually, to you? Was it…was it you-know-who?” “Anti,” the doctor spits. Chase winces at the name. “It’s not right to fear his name. He and I had an…encounter last night. I thought I was going to die.” He briefly touches his neck. Chase sees all the scars crisscrossed there; it’s why the doctor wears turtlenecks to work. He’s always been insecure about them. “I thought it was all over but…but I woke up here. My head hurts like a bitch but I’ve got no other wounds. My neck, my concussion—they’re healed, like they were never there. "So, I have reason to believe,” he continues, “Marvin used the full extent of his magic to save me. It’s probably why he’s passed out.” “He’s always been shit at restoration magic,” Chase jokes, but turns serious right away. “Jesus, doc. Are you really okay? Why the fuck did you-know-wh—I mean,—A…Anti go after you?” “Teach me a lesson? Finish me off?” Henrik raises his shoulder in a shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine. God, I’m sorry, Chase, that this is the scene you’ve returned to. You’ve had enough of this…this Anti business, and now we’re dragging you back into it. Forgive me.” “No, doc, don’t say that,” Chase waves him off, “it’s not your fault. Besides, the guy’s messing with my brothers. That’s not gonna fly with me.” His voice shakes. He knows how unconvincing his moxie is. He swallows the stone in his throat and turns away before Henrik can call him out on it. The man crosses the room and takes a trauma blanket from the cabinet—he practically knows the clinic as well as Henrik does—and drapes it over Marvin. The magician barely stirs. He’s completely out. “CHASE? IS EVERYONE OKAY?” Jackie shouts from the living room. Chase startles and nearly knocks some important doodad over. Henrik’s blue eyes crackle to life at the sound of the hero’s voice. “He’s okay,” he says more to himself than Chase, “Oh, God, he’s okay.” To Chase, he says, “Chase, help me up—I must see Jackie.” “But what about Marv?” “He’ll need rest. Neither of us are strong enough to move him upstairs. Please, Chase, let’s go.” Henrik is almost begging. The tone unnerves and stirs Chase into action. He helps the doctor, slowly and surely, into the living room. “Henrik?” Jackie breaths, “What happened to you? Why are you limping? Is Marvin o—” Henrik launches himself from Chase’s arms and onto Jackie, nearly tackling the hero into the sofa. Jackie grunts in pain. “You idiot,” Henrik growls, though with utmost love. “You had me so worried! You could’ve died.” He hugs Jackie tight, despite his weak state. “Don’t ever do that again.” “What, get stabbed?” When Henrik glares up at him, he sobers. “Okay, okay. I won’t. I promise. Chase, where’s Marvin?” “Getting some rest,” Chase explains, “He used a whole bunch of his magic to heal Henrik. A-Anti attacked the doc last night.” “He…what?” Jackie’s tone is dangerously quiet. His shoulders are tense—he looks like an apex predator. It takes everything in Chase not to back away. “Calm yourself,” Henrik cautions, “I’m okay now. Marvin made sure of it. It is true; I had a fight with Anti and…I did not emerge the victor. But it’s alright. I’m alright.” Jackie deflates and hugs Henrik back. “I’m glad you’re okay, doc.” “You too, Jackie.” Chase bites his lip and leaves the room. He knows what he said about Anti, that he’d be ready to fight the demon again, given the chance. It’s one big lie, because he is fucking terrified of Anti, terrified of the fact that this is all very real, and that it had gotten all too real very fast. He wants to run away in that stupid little way of his, where he drives and drives until he can’t or locks himself up in his room, anywhere where Anti can’t reach him. He’s managed not to see the demon for a full year. He can’t do this. He can’t. Not again. Not again. – Chase goes up to his room and finds the hatch to the roof still unlocked. He goes out and sits there, on the uncomfortable tiles, and stares up at the stars. It’s somewhere around 11:30, maybe midnight. He doesn’t check his phone. Henrik’s gone to sleep. Jackie had helped Chase move Marvin to the couch. The both of them weren’t nearly strong enough to bring him up to his bedroom. Some part of Chase is telling him to relapse. To drink. He snaps the rubber bracelet against his wrist over and over instead. It makes an angry red mark. It’s a distraction. It makes him all the more ashamed of how fast he crumbles in the face of all this. He’s hasn’t gotten better. Even in the darkness, he knows what the bracelet says. He’s seen it, worn it ever since the last time Anti had tormented him. Alcoholics Anonymous, in white letters against a garish neon green. His mouth tastes of smoke. His eyes are heavy. He is tired and deflated. His brothers nearly dead—what a sight to come home to. At least now, he’s here for them. He is so tired, he doesn’t turn around when the hatch opens and Jackie sits beside him. He’s changed out of that cartoon dog shirt—he sports one of Henrik’s striped shirts. “Hey,” Jackie greets him softly. Chase can see the hero watching the bracelet snap repeatedly against his wrist, which he doesn’t stop. “Hey.” Silence. Cicadas. Snap. Snap. Snap. “How long have you been sober?” Chase knows how much Jackie wants to say more, but he doesn’t. It’s a simple question. “A year.” An exact year from the last time Anti hurt him. He and Jackie match in scars now. Not on the neck, though. “Dude, that’s awesome. I’m proud of you.” The words are hollow. He doesn’t deserve them. Snap. Snap. Snap. “Chase?” Snap. Snap. Snap. “Welcome home.” Chase breaths shakily. His wrist stings. He cries, the fourth time that day, and bites back the urge to scream. “He’s g-going to f-find me again,” he says through quick breaths, “I’m n-next.” “Chase…” The man shakes his head furiously. “I-I’m not leaving. If he think he can fucking s-scare me,” Chase hiccups, “he’s w-wrong. I’m tired of r-running away. I’m going to fight.” Nothing, for a moment. Then, Jackie says, “It’s what Jack would’ve wanted.” Chase cries harder at that. He wants to toss his house keys off this damn roof and never see them again, because they remind him too much of the doors he’s just opened up. He’s not afraid. Shaking and sobbing, he is not afraid. He is furious.

#jacksepticeye #antisepticeye #chase brody #marvin the magnificent #jackieboy man #fanfiction #fic #nearly 4k words if you'll believe #jse #mine #my writing #alcoholism tw #alcohol ment #writersofjack

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shippindales · 4 years ago

Text

we ain’t ever getting older

HAPPY STACKSON WEEK 2020 Y’ALL I WAITED UNTIL MIDNIGHT.

This is a gift fic for @jacksonstilinskis that was born out of a post from forever ago where she said Closer was definitely a Stackson song and I said oh I’d definitely write that and then LITERALLY FOUR YEARS PASSED and here we are finally making good on that in time for @stacksonweek !

Also I realize my blog is not very friendly on the eyes (I need a revamp) so try the read more but if not I included a link as well.

Enjoy!

AO3

It was the kind of atmosphere that Stiles liked, when he needed to unwind for a bit. It wasn’t a sleazy hole in the wall type of place, nor was it too ritzy or stuffy for his tastes. Ease in the air, good ambiance with the dim lighting and low music, bartenders who got down to business and knew when you didn’t need a conversation, and a decent crowd. Not too bad, all things considered, for a hotel bar.

He nursed his gin and tonic as he pulled lightly at his tie, loosening it enough until it dangled from his neck freely while he unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. Wearing a suit would never grow on him, regardless of how his partner insisted that it gave them stature and authority. Miller could blow it out his ass, being federal agents gave them all the stature and authority they needed. But damn, he’d kill for jeans and a t-shirt every once in awhile. He’d have to beg for an undercover op next.

It was his fourth night at the hotel in Denver, and the stakeout was getting stale. Miller had insisted he take a night off, even called in a reserve agent just to take his spot so that he could blow off some steam. The night was young, and Stiles figured he had a multitude of options ahead of him for where his evening could go.

That was, until raucous laughter started up from the table across the other end of the sparsely populated bar, and Stiles rolled his eyes at the group of well-dressed men that sat around it, their chatter rolling over him until he looked a little more carefully, and caught a very familiar eye.

He nearly spat out his drink, and the glass clattered to the bar noisily in front of him, drawing the attention of the concerned bartender and a few patrons nearby. He waved them off, dabbing at the spill that had splashed onto the front of his shirt with a bar napkin, before he looked back over, and couldn’t make eye contact anymore. He flushed scarlet, embarrassed at the extra attention, and stared at the wall before tipping the glass to his lips and downing his drink in a few solid, full gulps. He signaled for another in answer to the bartender’s unspoken inquiry as she raised an eyebrow and motioned to his glass.

An hour went by in seemingly seconds as Stiles’ thoughts raced. It was obvious he didn’t want to reconnect, or he would’ve said something. Or maybe it was just the crowd he was with, and he didn’t want to draw attention to anything. What if he’d already left? Stiles couldn’t see the group of men clearly from where he was sitting, and a few of them had been in and out, though he was pretty sure he knew which one was him... he frowned. He’d lost sight of him. A dull ache started to form in his stomach that was unrelated to the buzz from his third drink.

“You know, all the ways I pictured we might run into each other, and this wasn’t one of them,” the smooth voice purred in his ear, and Stiles sat bolt upright, spinning around to face him. Jackson fucking Whittemore, in all his three-piece suited glory, grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

Stiles froze for a moment, his mouth hanging open, before Jackson’s words sunk in. He looked across the restaurant and noticed that the remainder of Jackson’s table of companions was filtering out the door, and he turned back with a sly smirk on his face. “Too shy to introduce me to your fancy buddies over there? What are you guys anyway, stock brokers?” He raised an eyebrow, looking Jackson up and down.

Jackson didn’t miss the roving eyes, though his shirt was still buttoned up tight and his tie in place, unlike Stiles. He looked the other man up and down himself, before taking a swig of his beer. “We should maybe reintroduce ourselves, considering it’s been awhile. Jackson Whittemore, Esquire.” He held out a hand to shake, a proud smile on his face that put butterflies in Stiles’ stomach.

He gripped it tightly and shook, growing goosebumps on his arm in the process, before pulling out his badge and flipping it open. “Agent Stilinski. FBI.” Jackson’s eyes widened in surprise, and Stiles smirked. “Yeah, I know, I was the hot gossip at our five-year reunion. Which you missed, by the way.” He pointed accusingly at Jackson, his finger poking him in the chest. Jackson didn’t shy away from the contact, leaning over the bar next to Stiles and resting his drink on a coaster.

“Yeah, I missed it. Law school beat the shit out of me. I don’t know why I ever decided to follow in my dad’s footsteps.” He shrugged. “But it’s been a pretty good life so far. And uh, the academy’s done good things for you.” He raised an eyebrow, admiring the way Stiles’ form had filled out since high school. And Stiles knew, he’d definitely grown into the gangly limbs and awkward proportions since he was a teenager.

Not that it hadn’t been a struggle. He’d spent his first few weeks at the academy feeling like he was going to die, but the physical training had gradually honed him into a toned, lean version of himself that he never thought he’d see in his younger years. Regardless, Jackson’s obvious attention to it had him flushing slightly.

The unspoken tension filled the air before Stiles took a deep sip of his drink, setting it down carefully. “You never kept in touch,” he pointed out. It was casual, but his tone implied something deeper. Jackson stared at him, noticed the way Stiles’ eyes wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“Didn’t deserve to,” he retorted, which drew a look of surprise from Stiles. “What? I was an absolute ass in high school, dude. And probably even more of an ass in undergrad.” He shuddered. “I’ve grown up a lot. Obviously you have too. But I wanted to be... different, when I eventually got around to reconnecting with everyone, especially you.”

Especially you. And weren’t those pretty words to come from an equally pretty mouth. “Yeah, you were an ass in high school,” Stiles acknowledged, though the response from Jackson was a look of more guilt than he’d been intending to inflict. “But you made up for it.”

The implication turned back time to groping hands, shuttered up in Jackson’s bathroom during a party, mouths and limbs and hardness, heat and release— The blush was equal in both their cheeks. It wasn’t a single occurrence, they had quite the history over the last few years of high school.

“I remember,” Jackson muttered, the barest hint of a smile playing on the edges of his lips. “I didn’t know what I was doing then, though. And I was a dick to you about it. You know, when things got more... involved.”

When feelings got involved. Right.

Stiles shrugged it off. Long since passed, and long since forgotten. His attention instead turned to the earlier part of what Jackson had said. “So you know what you’re doing now?” he inquired, and his amber eyes were peering up at Jackson through those thick lashes that always set him off when they were younger, and god damn were those memories coursing through their veins and making them both feel alive, thrumming to the accelerating tattoo that their pulses set.

Jackson gripped Stiles’ tie, pulling him forward forcefully to capture his lips, ignoring the wandering eyes from the bartender and other patrons, who probably thought they were moving a little fast for a first time meet. He felt Stiles gasp quietly underneath him, the heat pooling in his gut as Stiles’ tongue flicked out gently to trace his bottom lip. They separated, breathing heavily, before Jackson pulled him by his tie a little further, to lean over in Stiles’ ear once more. “Want to find out?”

Stiles dug into his wallet, slapped a fifty on the counter and downed the rest of his drink. “Let’s get out of here,” he murmured, and Jackson followed him out the door before pressing him against the brick wall, humming into his mouth as their tongues danced. “Easy, tiger,” Stiles chided gently, grinning as Jackson nipped down the side of his jaw to his neck.

“Got a lot to make up for,” Jackson muttered against his skin, sucking a deep bruise into Stiles’ collarbone as he shoved the offending fabric of his dress shirt aside. His hand slipped into his pocket and came back with his car keys, clicking the remote. A black Range Rover beeped from the isolated corner of the parking lot, and Stiles looked before rolling his eyes.

“The Rover doesn’t surprise me, Mr. Porsche,” he teased, laughing as he danced away from Jackson’s needy hands and lips, making for the rear passenger side door. “Esquire over here flashing what he can afford.” There was no venom in his words, only joking praise.

“Why are you getting in the back?” Jackson asked, confusion knitting his brows.

“Because so are you,” Stiles retorted, and the mischievous grin spread across his face as he opened the door and hopped in. The grin that brought the memories surging back as Jackson hopped in the backseat from the other side, their mouths clashing urgently as Stiles tugged on Jackson’s jacket, discarding it into the front seat with little regard.

It wasn’t long until their shirts were open, and Jackson was pressing their chests flush together, relishing in the keen that came out of Stiles at the feel of skin on skin. He nipped down Stiles’ neck to drag his tongue along his clavicle, biting down sharply.

Stiles yelped, but felt himself stiffen completely, because yes, this was what he missed. The way Jackson never treated him like he was breakable, trusted him to handle it, and it was something he’d been missing for a long time. He didn’t get around much with his busy life and his federal job, and he felt like a tightly coiled spring finally given the freedom to release.

The way Jackson grabbed his hips bruisingly, like Stiles’d fall through to the center of the earth if he loosened his grip, lit something in him, and he pushed Jackson’s shirt off his shoulder, admiring the tribal tattoo design he found there. He sank his teeth into it, satisfied with the way Jackson threw his head back and moaned at the contact.

“Stiles,” he interrupted, but Stiles paid no mind, kissing his way down Jackson’s hairless chest as he pawed at his hardness through the front of his suit pants. “As much as I’d love to fuck you in my backseat, I think we need a bed.”

Stiles came up for air, after kissing down Jackson’s abdomen. He shrugged his shoulders, nipping at Jackson’s lower lip lightly. “Fine then, Whittemore. Take me home and take me to bed.”

The door slammed behind them minutes later, after Jackson had broken nearly every traffic law in the state. He yanked at Stiles’ shirt impatiently, pulling it off of his arms before their mouths were back in contact, shrugging off his own shirt as their clothing fluttered, forgotten, to the floor. Searing heat and the clash of rushed, hurried teeth filled Stiles’ consciousness, as Jackson’s hands roamed down his sides and slipped underneath his waistband, palming Stiles’ ass impatiently.

“Fucker,” Stiles growled into his mouth as he arched his back into the touch. Jackson reached down and grabbed him around the waist, hauling him up until Stiles’ legs wrapped around his waist instinctively. He threw the other man unceremoniously on the bed after shoving into the bedroom, and Stiles collapsed in a pile of limbs before turning onto his back, sighing gently. “Your mattress is comfy,” he complimented, a stupid grin slapped across his face as he shimmied out of his pants.

“My law school roommate in Boulder ditched the last month of rent. I changed the locks and stole his furniture.” Jackson’s belt whipped off lightning quick as he shoved his own pants and underwear to the floor, his cock springing free of its cloth prison. He hissed as it met the cool air, and Stiles licked his lips as they collapsed back together, hands and mouths fumbling deliciously.

After a few moments, Stiles scrambled down the bed to swallow him to the hilt in one fluid motion. Jackson hissed as Stiles’ tongue flicked out around the base of his shaft as he took him into the back of his throat. “Jesus fuck, your mouth, Stilinski. Missed it so much.”

Stiles pulled up and off of Jackson’s shaft with a wet pop, before smacking it lightly against his cheek. “Guess you’ll just have to make up for lost time then.” He ran his tongue from base to tip, swirling it around the head before delving back down, and Jackson pulled his own hair to keep from yelling to loudly at how fucking incredible it felt.

Stiles hummed around his shaft, bobbing to the base and back to the tip to swirl his tongue in the way he knew drove Jackson nuts. The humming sent deep vibrations through Jackson’s flesh and he let out a ragged, broken moan.

The taste and feel of him bombarded Stiles with memories of the first time he’d ever sucked Jackson’s dick, denial radiating through the other boy even as he’d twitched in anticipation, letting out a rough breath as Stiles finally took him in his mouth.

“Do you like it?”

“Shut up and keep going.”

Jackson was growing impatient, and he finally pulled himself out of Stiles’ mouth, reaching down to throw the other man further up on the bed, stomach down, receiving a yelp of protest which quickly died on Stiles’ lips as Jackson kissed down his back to his ass, biting sharply into his left cheek. His breath ghosted over Stiles’ hole, and okay, yes, this was a thing that they’d never done together before that Stiles was 120% on board with.

“Are you seriously going to ahhhhh fucking shit Christ Jesus,” Stiles babbled as Jackson’s tongue flicked out and laved at his rim like a man starved, both hands palming Stiles’ ass and spreading his cheeks and yeah, okay, Jackson had picked up some tricks since high school. Yup.

His sensitive hole was twitching under the ministrations of Jackson’s tongue, and Jackson hummed as he pressed his tongue inside the taut ring of muscle, eliciting a sharp sound from Stiles that he wanted more of. A finger joined his tongue, then two as Stiles relaxed under his efforts.

“God, I can’t believe I’ve never opened you up like this before,” Jackson panted. “You’re so warm and open, so good for me.” His praise was radiating through Stiles’ bones as he pressed his hips back.

“I need you,” Stiles groaned. “Need to feel you again. It’s been— god, too long, not enough, just— just do it.”

Jackson nodded, moving to obey and flicking open the bottle of lube he’d nabbed from his bedside table, spreading it over himself quickly before pressing into Stiles, slowly but persistently.

Stiles’ eyes screwed tight as he breathed in and out sharply, the burn of Jackson’s breach stretching him in a way he hadn’t been in a long time. “Fucking holy hell, forgot how thick you were,” he breathed, pressing his face into the pillow desperately as he rolled his hips back to take Jackson further.

Jackson paused, for a brief moment, to give Stiles time to adjust. That action alone sent a shock through Stiles’ body. Jackson had never been about how Stiles felt, their clandestine hookups throughout high school had always been about Jackson getting off, but this— this was different, and Stiles felt it, felt the consideration and respect.

He responded by pressing his hips back into Jackson, hissing as the burn reignited but slowly began to dissipate. “Move,” he commanded, and Jackson obeyed.

And this, this was what Jackson had missed the most. “God, the way you look spread out around my dick,” he groaned, fucking into Stiles with earnest, staring down at the way Stiles’ hole gripped his girth each time he slid out.

“Shit, Jacks,” Stiles grunted, slamming his hips backwards to meet Jackson’s thrusts, all earlier thoughts of tenderness abandoned. “God, I forgot how good you felt in me. It’s been so long. Always so fucking hard and rough with me. Fuck.”

Jackson’s hand cracked down onto Stiles’ ass, drawing a yelp and leaving an angry red handprint. He spanked him again, twice more, three more times, causing Stiles to let out a long, sharp series of moans. “Fucking take it,” Jackson bit out, pummeling into him rapidly.

Stiles’ talk devolved into senseless syllables and nonsensical babbling as he felt the pleasure coiling in his gut. “Mmmm, f-f-fuuuuck, I’m gonna— I’m close, I—”

Jackson halted, reaching down with both arms and flipping Stiles over onto his back in one smooth motion, bending his head to bite roughly on Stiles’ bottom lip as he pushed back in, holding him around his waist with his legs in the air as he jackhammered in at a punishing pace. “Want to see it,” he panted against Stiles’ lips. “Want to see you let go, see how taken apart you are when you come.”

Stiles came with a shout, spurting copiously all over his chest, his eyes screwed shut and fists tangled in the sheets. Jackson followed him over the brink, moaning loudly as he shoved to the hilt and spilled himself inside Stiles.

Collapsing on the bed next to him, they both laid for a few moments, Stiles’ head lolling over onto Jackson’s shoulder. Their breathing was still heavy, though their pulses began to slow after having finally reached their peaks.

“So,” Jackson began, running his finger through the mess on Stiles’ abdomen and popping it into his mouth before pulling it out with a pop. Stiles’ eyes followed him, blown wide and dark. “Made up for lost time?”

Stiles nodded, grinning wildly as he ran his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. “It’s a start.”

A start. Jackson nodded, breaking eye contact as a smile spread across his face.

----------------------------------------

He traced his fingertips around Jackson’s abdominal muscles absentmindedly, leaning his head into the crook of the other man’s neck. Jackson’s eyes were lightly closed, satisfied after their round the next morning. They were resting quietly, the morning light filtering in through the taupe curtains and spilling warm rays of sunshine across their mostly still forms.

“Would things have been different?” Stiles asked quietly, prompting a soft, questioning hum from Jackson, who kept his eyes closed, but rubbed circles into Stiles’ shoulder with his thumb. “If you weren’t a dick in high school, I mean.” The implication behind it left Stiles feeling vulnerable, and he swallowed it down thickly.

“Maybe,” Jackson admitted, turning to press his lips gently into Stiles’ hair. “I can’t change who I was then. I wish it could’ve gone differently, though.” The unspoken differences echoed in the silence, and Stiles pictured what life could’ve been like, in another world.

“What about now?” he asked, voice uncertain. There was no indication that Jackson had wanted this to continue, that it was more than just a rekindling of an old flame, destined to wither and snuff out as it had before.

Jackson was silent for a moment too long before responding, and it twisted Stiles’ stomach up in knots. “What about it?”

“Is it too late?” Stiles asked. He was unable to form the words, unable to ask directly for fear of putting himself too far out there. Something about this just felt like the universe was pointing them in the right direction for once, and he needed to know now if it was never going to happen.

“Do you want it to be?” Jackson asked.

He blinked, the answer clear as day. “No.”

A small smile played at the corner of Jackson’s lips as he looked down at Stiles. “Then it’s not too late.”

The sun’s rays splayed out gently across their skin as Jackson pulled him closer.

“Good.”

#stacksonweek2020 #teen wolf #stackson #stiles stilinski #jackson whittemore #my fic

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